Valor Without Renown
by Brandi N. Jones
Summary: AU: Legolas is killed during the War of the Ring at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Exactly two years have passed, and Gimli is still deep in the grieving process when an unexpected visitor arrives and fills in a missing link in the prince's past.
1. An Unexpected Visitor

It was the day of the second anniversary since Legolas's passing, and Gimli had decided, much as Aragorn allegedly had, to immerse himself in work.

He locked himself in his study, committing himself to catching up on the menial and mundane tasks he had neglected lately.

He missed Legolas, yes, but he was far too stubborn to allow his grief to consume him. Life must go on; the Elf would have wanted that. And work must go on.

He was attempting to distract himself by diligently poring over past daily logs of work done in the Glittering Caves. They were no longer even necessary, but the Dwarf had discovered that he was becoming quite the packrat these days.

He had just dipped his quill in the jar of ink when there came a timid knock upon the heavy door of the study.

Gimli looked up, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

He sighed, then bade whoever insisted upon distracting him from his distraction to speak.

"My lord Gimli, you have a visitor. He awaits you in the Grand Hall." The gruff voice turned glacial. "An _Elf."_

Gimli sighed again. Typical. He had moved past that tendency long ago, but it seemed no one else ever would, and he knew he had no power to remedy that alone.

He needed allies in Aglarond, but the Dwarves were all too mulish and too readily willing to hold an age-long grudge. Gimli was but one Dwarf, after all. How could he dare to hope to change the minds of so many? And besides, quite frankly, he was too exhausted with it to bother trying anymore.

He walked to the door, opening it with feigned regality and offering a scathing glance at the smug Dwarf who stood before him. "I ask that you refrain from allowing your ignorant distaste of the Elvish kind to be so lavishly displayed in the tone of your voice, Balhar."

"With all due respect, my lord, why? He is not here."

"Still," Gimli's voice was firm, "_I_ am."

Balhar obviously was thinking, _"And your point is...?"_

Gimli glowered at him. "You know I am considered an Elf-friend."

"My apologies, Lord Gimli. I was bidden to inform you that this visitor made mention of your deceased friend Legolas."

The Dwarf winced at the term "deceased." How he hated that word!

His mind reeled with the possibilities.

It couldn't be Galadriel, Celeborn, Glorfindel, Erestor, or Elrond. They had sailed to the West shortly after the War.

Haldir, then? ...No, impossible. That Elf had made his hatred of Dwarves, and Gimli in particular, abundantly clear after their spat in Lorien during the Quest. He would more than likely never come within a hundred leagues of the Glittering Caves.

So that left...Arwen...

No, that wasn't reasonable either. The Queen of Gondor was probably far too busy to ride to Aglarond to pay a Dwarf she had met but twice a visit.

Deciding against the wisdom of engaging in the unending mental list, Gimli tried to think who would have reason to make certain he knew that they knew Legolas. None on that list would need to say that; he knew they had been acquainted with the Elf.

It would have to be someone unwelcome that was simply using their familiarity with Legolas as an excuse to be allowed admittance into Gimli's home.

But who...?

_Thranduil._

The name hit him like a boulder.

"Is is the father of Legolas?" Gimli veritably snapped at Balhar. "I will not tolerate his flashy entrances and vicious insults! If my visitor is Thranduil, you may graciously tell him to leave! Why, if he has the nerve..." He trailed off lamely.

"No, Lord Gimli, it is not King Thranduil."

"A messenger of his, then. It must be, for there are no others that would come here and make a point of their acquaintance with Legolas. It would not be necessary, for all others would be welcome here."

Gimli chuckled with derision, then added sardonically, "Unless, of course, it's _Legolas_ himself, dropping by for a visit and sending me salutations from Mandos."

There was a pause. Balhar seemed to be measuring his words carefully in his mind before he ever allowed them permission to roll off his tongue.

"No, m'lord. It is his son."

Gimli's jaw dropped.

"His _what?!"_


	2. Malenfín

"Son," answered a voice that was entirely too musical to be that of any Dwarf Gimli had ever encountered.

Gimli could not for the life of him force his mouth to close. He gaped in shocked disbelief at the stranger that casually approached him.

_Durin's Beard! It IS Legolas!_

Shaking off that foolish thought, he settled for the conclusion that this must instead be the Elf's identical twin.

The Elf that stood only about a dozen feet away was every detail, every inch his father's likeness. Gimli continued to gawk as his dark eyes scrutinized the fair creature that bore such an unnerving resemblence to his sorely missed friend.

Oh, yes. So very familiar.

Tall like Legolas, with the wand-slender body structure. Gimli knew that if this young Elf was anything like his father, which he very obviously was, he would be just as deceptively strong. It had surprised Gimli the first time he saw Legolas lifting heavy boards and stacks of iron shields.

The face was the same; just as smooth, pale, and impeccable, with the high forehead, the chiseled bone structure, the dark brows, the straight, fine nose, the bowed lips, the squarish jaw.

The eyes especially caught Gimli off-guard. They were identical; the same piercing deep blue eyes, filled with a confusing combination of both childish mischief and wisdom far beyond even an Elf's years.

The thick cascade of blonde hair was not braided in warrior- and royalty-fashion as Legolas' always had been; instead, it had been captured in a single braid that lay in graceful obedience over his left shoulder, shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight.

There was no denying this fair one his paternal claims.

The son of his dear friend dipped his head in courteous acknowledgment, lips curving into a genuine, amused smile. "My regards, Lord Gimli of Aglarond. I am Malenfín, the only child of Legolas Greenleaf. I believe you two knew each other long ago?"

Gimli was beside himself with surprise. The fact that this was the son of Legolas was just beginning to sink in, and his disbelief was growing steadily and rapidly.

"Aye, he was my best friend, but it is not possible that you are his son. Legolas was never married, and he never once spoke to me of a she-Elf...and especially not of a _child!"_

He coughed, suddenly realizing his utter lack of tact and courtesy, and said graciously, "By the gates of Mordor! I must apologize for my blatant staring and rude acknowledgment. I am mortified to admit that I never before this moment was aware of your existence. I surely did not intend to call you a liar."

Malenfín did not appear offended. In fact, he seemed rather amused. "It is quite all right. Few do know of my true lineage."

Gimli still seemed humiliated. "I am pleased that you seem undeterred by my unbecoming behavior. Still, I am deeply regretful of it."

"Worry not, my lord. Any friend of my late father is a friend of mine."

The Dwarf offered a sheepish smile, then cleared his throat and attempted a second, —hopefully more appropriate— impression. "Greetings, Malenfín, son of Legolas Greenleaf, late Elf-Prince of Mirkwood. It is my honor to meet you, and my deepest relief to know that some other Elf from the realm of Thranduil would not have me promptly locked away or beheaded."

Malenfín reached out a hand to clasp Gimli's shoulder. The Dwarf's dark eyes followed the motion, and his heart ached.

_Just like his father._

"You speak of my grandfather. His reputation obviously precedes him in many kingdoms."

Gimli snorted. "You could say that."

Malenfín seemed lost in thought for a moment, but soon enough, he inquired, "Gimli, I must ask, and I implore of you to forgive me my curiosity, what was my father like? I've heard many versions, yet yours, as his best friend, would be the most valuable to me."

Gimli smiled. Innumerable adjectives chased each other through his mind and memory, yet none sufficed. How does one even _begin_ to explain someone like Legolas?

How was he to explain to the son of his dearest friend that his sire had silken hair that could very well be the only worthy rival to the golden boughs of the ever-autumn mallorn trees of Lorien?

How could anyone describe the way the Elf conveyed strength, wisdom and nobility without ever lifting a finger or speaking a word? How could one put into words the way Legolas had of being utterly still and silent and yet being easily recognized as one of the most powerful presences in any group?

How could Gimli ever hope to tell Malenfín that not only was his father capable of felling a cave-troll with but a couple of unerringly aimed arrows, but also of charming it senseless with a simple smile?

Finally, he came up with a reply that suited him. "He was _you,_ Malenfín."

"How so?" the Elf pried. Obviously, that answer did not suit_ him_. Gimli could only imagine how stupid it must have sounded. Entirely too general.

"Forgive me. Your father was a mystery, even to me. Words escape me, but I shall try."

It was difficult at first to speak over the tidal wave of emotion that crashed over him as memories flitted like fickle butterflies through his mind. It all happened too quickly; Gimli could hardly think. After a moment, he took in a deep breath, collected his wits about him, and spoke in a tone entirely too quiet for a Dwarf that Legolas had often deemed loud-mouthed.

"He was beautiful. I never would have deigned to admit it to him, but he was." The Dwarf shrugged. "He was an Elf, after all. You fool Elves are known for beauty so radiant it makes one's eyes ache. Your father was no exception."

_Oh, for the love of Mahal! I sound like an Elf!_

Come to think of it, the more Gimli had been in the company of Aragorn and Legolas, the more often he had found that he was speaking as they did. It was unnerving, to say the least.

It was, therefore, only logical to assume that all the Dwarves in Aglarond thought Gimli was putting on airs, even for his status as Lord of the Glittering Caves. Even so, they had all adjusted their manner of speech accordingly.

Gimli was speaking like an Elf. Everyone knew it, and Gimli could not have been more irritated about it.

Legolas would have _loved_ that.

Malenfín prompted, interrupting his realization, "How so, Master Gimli?"

Gimli smirked. Evidently, the young Elf, for all his uncanny similarities to his late father, had failed to inherit Legolas' everlasting patience.

"He was a warrior, through and through. I fought alongside him in many ruthless, vicious battles, yet never once was he wounded. I forgot so often that even Elves can die upon the sterling length of a sword, for he seemed more than just immortal to me. He seemed invincible. He fought with a grace unlike any I had ever seen before or since. His bow sang a fell song of precision and death, and hundreds fell prey to his lethal arrows. I counted myself very, very fortunate a great many times that he was on my side. I certainly would not have wanted to be his enemy."

Malenfín smirked. "He sounds fierce. I certainly did not inherit that particular quality."

"Oh, and by my beard, he was! He was a mighty warrior, to be sure, but he was also one of the gentlest creatures. It used to disgust me, for I imagined that he winced everytime I trampled a piece of grass. But that was exaggerated. He simply cared for nature. He warned me to be kind to the trees in the enchanted forest of Fangorn, and rightly so, for I found soon enough that they were quite the formidable force to be reckoned with!"

"I wish I could have known him," the Elf said with a trace of sorrow.

"I'm glad I did," Gimli responded gently. "My life was all the better for it."

Malenfín's smile was just as beautiful as his father's ever had been. "You were a good friend to him. My mother and I are both grateful to you for that."

"Your mother," Gimli mused. "I would like to hear about her."

"Why have you never before heard the tale of Legolas and my mother? I thought surely it would be the talk of Middle Earth well into the Fifth Age, for all the scandal of it."

"I am not particularly welcome in Mirkwood, my friend. If I had somehow managed to slip past the border-guards into the Elven forest back when talk of the scandalous circumstances of your birth was still circulating, either the spiders would have eaten me or I might have been faced with the opportunity to experience my father's punishment so long ago first-hand. Even now, I could not enter Eryn Lasgalen. While I might be in the good graces of the Lady Galadriel, I would never expect her to gossip; and this is of course assuming that I manage to sweet-talk Haldir and his fellow seneschals into letting me into Lorien without first being riddled with white-feathered arrows. I also doubt that any Dwarf here knows the tale. They do not especially favor Elves, you realize."

The Elf smiled grimly. "Point taken. Well, then, friend Gimli, you shall hear it from me. All in due time. I have a few questions of my own first."


	3. The Divulgence

"Before you begin, I beg a moment to fetch some ale," Gimli announced. "I have a feeling I'm going to want to be good and drunk before you regale me with tales of Legolas's fornications."

At Malenfín's look of utter horror, the Dwarf quickly added, "I apologize. I did not mean to fill your pretty head with images of your father..."

_All right, Gimli, stop talking._

"Maybe filling _my _head with ale isn't such a good idea."

Shaking his head as if to toss away the mental pictures, the young Elf cleared his throat. "Are you certain you do not want a drink?"

Gimli chewed the thought over for about five seconds. "No," he answered.

With that, he walked over to the wooden cabinet in one corner. He opened a door, and from within produced a hammered metal flask.

Malenfín watched with mild interest as Gimli poured an astoundingly dark and thick liquid into a water-spotted mug with a large chip on the brim.

"Care for a taste?" the Dwarf asked, although it was more of a polite, rhetorical question. He knew full well what the Elf would say.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass," Malenfín replied slowly as he tried to conceal his distaste.

"Naturally. Your father wasn't much of a drinker, either...but that isn't to say he _couldn't _drink. In fact, the one time I saw him do so, he quite literally drank me under the table."

Malenfín emitted something between a gasp and a giggle at the thought of his father out-drinking a Dwarf. "I cannot imagine my father, from what I've heard about him at least, inebriated."

"Neither can I," Gimli replied with a shrug as he took a sip of the ale. "Even after practically inhaling all that beer, I doubt very much he felt a thing."

The Elf opened his mouth to speak, but after the loud belch the Dwarf emitted in appreciation, it simply hung agape.

"I beg your pardon, Malenfín. I am not nearly as refined as your father was," Gimli told him apologetically.

Obviously wishing to get past that awkward moment, the Elf leapt headlong into another. "You wish to know the identity of my mother." It was not a question.

"If you believe it is any concern of mine. I do not want you to divulge things you are not comfortable...ah..."

"Divulging?" Malenfín offered, realizing that the drink was beginning to limit Gimli's available supply of vocabulary, and was startled when the Dwarf belted out a laugh and slapped him on the knee.

"Precisely! Always skilled with the words, you Elves."

Malenfín decided to keep his knees far from Gimli's short reach after he had announced his mother's name.

"All right, laddie, on with it. Who is your mother?"

A little perturbed by Gimli's obvious lack of respectful patience during such a difficult revealing of information, Malenfín shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"No one must know of this. My mother asked me to promise that I would not reveal her identity to anyone. I am going against that promise only because I know that you were a true friend to my father and I'm placing a lot of trust in you, Gimli, to never repeat this to anyone."

"I promise," the Dwarf answered with overly dramatic drunken solemnness. "Not a word."

Satisfied that the pledge was genuine, he continued, "According to my mother, her love affair with my father began long before King Elessar was brought to Rivendell, even long before he was born."

"What does this have to do with King Elessar?"

"He is her husband now," Malenfín revealed carefully.

Under normal (sober) circumstances, Gimli would have immediately figured it out by now, but his mind was far too clouded.

Malenfín seemed to realize this. With a sigh, he said, "He is Lady Arwen's husband."

He sobered up instantly as he spat his ale against the wall.

"Arwen!" he practically shouted.


	4. To Relive a Nightmare

_To answer the questions of my reviewers, as there have been many along the same line,_

_Legolas only knew Malenfin as a babe, and then Arwen insisted that he return to his home to take care of the shadows that were hovering over Mirkwood at the time._

_This is all, of course, took place much earlier than the Council of Elrond, and by the time that event took place, Malenfin was of age and doubtless running about elsewhere. You know how those mischievous young Elves can be._

_I know it's confusing, guys, but you have my word: it will all be made clear in the coming chapters. I intend to go further back into the history, and explain how everything came to be, but you all will have to bear with me. I apologize. :)_

_And no, Thranduil never knew Legolas had a son. Our fair blond Prince intended to tell him after the War. Sad, isn't it? But don't worry, that all will come to a head soon too (hint hint)._

---------------------------------------

Malenfín clapped a hand over his mouth, glowering at him. "Be quiet!" he hissed. "I didn't come here to tell _all _the Dwarves!"

"I'm sorry," Gimli murmured in muffled apology, too shocked to say anything else.

"If I release you, will you be calm?"

The Dwarf nodded, and the hand was removed. Immediately, Gimli's mouth fell agape.

"I cannot believe," he whispered, "that your mother is the Evenstar, the Lady Arwen Undómiel."

"Well, 'tis true," Malenfín told him quietly.

"Please, beg pardon if this comes across as insulting, but I have to tell you, Malenfín, you are every inch the mirror image of your father. You look almost nothing like Arwen."

The Elf, rather than being offended at the mention that he bore no resemblance to his celebrated beauty of a mother, simply nodded his agreement.

"Believe me, it is no hardship to favor your father," Gimli reassured him quickly, just in case. "He was easy enough on the eyes in his own right. Entire crowds fell silent when they caught sight of his fair form. The poor Halflings practically wilted with envy. Legolas was very beautiful; believe me, you are lucky to be blessed with two exquisitely ravishing Elves as parents."

Malenfín smiled. "He apparently did not know it. My mother told me that, upon having his first viewing of me after the birth, he was terribly disappointed that I did not have her dark hair."

Gimli smiled too, and chuckled. "Aye, that sounds like something Legolas would have said."

"I think my mother was more readily pleased about it, for she was the one who christened me Malenfín, which translates to 'golden.' "

"Very fitting," the Dwarf proclaimed.

A comfortable silence fell between them, but after a bit, Gimli could no longer avoid the question that was positively burning a hole into his mind.

"Does Ara--ah, Elessar, know?"

Rather than glowering at the Dwarf for making a perfectly pleasant lull into a completely awkward conversation, Malenfín answered, "Of course. My mother told him the night before you and your eight companions left Rivendell to begin your Quest."

"He must have taken the news very, very well," Gimli remarked sardonically. Malenfín lifted a fair brow in confusion, prompting the Dwarf to add, "That Man had a temper to be reckoned with."

"She gave Elessar the Evenstar pendant, not Legolas," Malenfín reminded him.

"To soften the blow?"

The Elf frowned. "No, she gave it to him because she knew she belonged with him; however, it did help ease Elessar's fears that she might still be in love with my father. It also was a gesture meant to reassure him that her future now lay with him. There is no doubt in my heart that my mother ever regretted her choice."

"There is no doubt in mine that Legolas ever did either."

Malenfín quickly replied, "Certainly not. From what she tells me, he was completely supportive, even downright enthusiastic, about her plans to marry Elessar."

Gimli smiled. "That was your father, all right. Always insisting on looking out for the happiness of others. Given the unfailing adoration he bestowed on those he loved, one would never have guessed that he was such a lethal warrior on the battlefield."

If Gimli had managed to bring up an uncomfortable topic of conversation earlier, Malenfín proved far better at it.

"Were you there when..." The Elf trailed off, clearly uncomfortable as he offered Gimli a sheepish look of apology.

Shifting in his seat, the Dwarf nodded, awkwardly clearing his throat. He knew the end of the inquiry. _Were you there when...my father died._

"Did he suffer?"

Another nod; this time, slower and much more reluctant.

There were tears in the remarkable blue eyes, Gimli noted with real regret and immeasurable sympathy, but the proud Elf remained composed. "I see..."

"I am sorry, Malenfín, but if you are at all like your late father, I assume you are not an Elf who minces words."

The golden head shook slowly. "I want to know the truth, and I could not bear to ask my mother. It would surely traumatize her; besides, she was not there as you were."

Gimli winced. "I'd rather not, Master Elf. Perhaps you could ask Elessar?"

"The King is far too busy, and I want to hear it from my father's best friend." The blue eyes, so achingly identical to Legolas's, pleaded with the Dwarf. "Please?"

By Mahal! How could he deny the fair young Elf his wishes; yet how could he bear to repeat the horrid experience to Legolas's only child? It would surely break his heart.

"You cannot know the depths of my regret that you inherited your father's insatiable curiosity, Malenfín. I do not wish to relay the terrible details of his passing to you."

"He was my father, Gimli." The musical voice was pleading. "I want to know what happened."

The Dwarf took a deep breath, and mentally prepared himself for the recollection of the facts that had haunted him every day for the two years since Legolas had gone on to the Halls of Mandos.

The awful memories swirled around him, then engulfed him, and Gimli could not have braced himself against the tidal wave of agony that crashed against his soul.

But alas, the tale must be told. He could not deny Malenfín the right to know the truth.


	5. Namárië

_**Author's Note** - Beware, guys, this one's a tough chapter. Might want to have a box of Kleenex near at hand._

_My apologies for how long it took to get this chapter posted, but killing off my very favorite golden archer proved far more difficult than I had imagined possible._

_This scene unfolds at Pelennor Fields right as the battle has drawn to an end. The members of the Fellowship that were present at this battle were scattered close to their imminent victory, and Gimli realizes in the chaos of the aftermath that Legolas is no longer beside him..._

* * *

Before the Dwarf knew what was happening, a unanimous cacophany of cheers erupted from the warriors who fought under Aragorn's capable leadership. 

Could it be true? Was the battle truly over?

Gimli was far more exhausted than he would have ever admitted to anyone who had the audacity to ask. He was wearied to his very bones; his muscles were wailing a symphony of protests at his every move; and his axe-arm was positively throbbing.

But it was over now. He found just enough energy to be relieved.

A delighted hush had fallen over the Pelennor Fields, as if everyone was waiting for...what? Another round of cheers? Gimli doubted it. Everyone was getting tired of celebrating already...there could be no doubt that they were as dog-tired as the Dwarf. He caught himself and snorted: these were mere Men! They must be _thrice _as drained as he!

For his part, he was stricken with a very real sense of foreboding. And Gimli did not trust the moment of respite one bit. It was...too quiet.

After the initial thrill of the end of the war had worn off, those still able to do so began the necessary routine of restoring order to this last battlefield.

Warriors picked through the wreckage of the battle, retrieving lost weapons and removing their dead to be carried into the city for proper burials befitting heroes.

It wasn't nearly as peaceful as it had been moments before. The clanking of armor and weaponry was deafening. Every now and then, a cry of protest would rise up at the discovery of a fallen comrade. The hair-raising moans of the injured and dying were all around him. Gimli wanted to stuff his fingers into his ears, but at least the pregnant lull had lifted.

Gimli's heart stopped at the next sound he was able to distinguish. It was his name, barely rasped out by a voice he would know _anywhere._

"Legolas!" he shouted, whirling around and looking in every direction, trying to discern where the voice was coming from. "Legolas! Legolas, speak to me!"

"Gimli..." It was almost inaudible now, and the Dwarf was frustrated by his inability to decide where to turn to find his friend.

Finally, thank the Valar, he spotted the Elf's great bow of Lorien, jutting out from beneath a pile of wood. It seemed that one of Harad's _mûmakil _had lost its Houdah carriage, which had come crashing down; presumably onto Legolas. Gimli swallowed a lump in his throat, then immediately set to the task of lifting and tossing aside pieces of wood in a frenzied effort to get to his fallen friend. When that proved too slow for his liking, he began using his axe to shovel debris aside. "I'm coming, Legolas! I know you are beneath this rubble! Hold on, Master Elf!"

When at last the prone figure of the Elf was revealed, Gimli tossed his axe aside and hurried to crouch beside him. "I'm sorry I did not find you sooner, Legolas."

"Nonsense," the Elf murmured. There was a cryptic undertone to his normally lilting voice that was not lost on Gimli as he added, "You found me just in time."

Gently, the Dwarf pushed aside the grey Elven cloak. "Ai, Legolas, your wound is considerable!" Gimli exclaimed, shocked by the amount of blood that was soaking through the heavy jerkin. He undid the clasps carefully, opened the jerkin, and gently undid each of the four fastenings of the silver tunic beneath, grumbling all the while under his breath about the Elven tendency to wear far too many garments. Legolas managed a very weak grin at that; he might well have expected to be chastened about something.

Having finally laid bare the Elf's pale chest, Gimli examined the injury more closely. It was located above and to the left of the heart. That was fortunate, although Legolas had lost an obscene amount of blood already, and it continued to flow lazily from the deep laceration.

The puncture was clearly from a spear of the Haradrim, which Legolas had no doubt deftly removed and, more likely than not, hurled right back at his attacker with deadly precision.

"My wound is mortal, Gimli," came the quiet declaration as the Elf reached to take his friend's hand. "As I said before, you found me just in time. It warms my heart to know I will not perish alone among unfamiliar men, but in the presence of my closest friend."

"Do not speak that way!" Gimli insisted, sitting down and carefully lifting the much taller Elf into his lap, or at least most of him anyway. "It is not so! Your wound is _not _mortal! Do not be so bleak! You will be fine, Legolas. You just need Aragorn. Where _is _that blasted man?!"

"Aragorn cannot help me, my friend. It is too late. Even now, I feel the life ebbing from me." There were tears sparkling in the blue eyes as they searched his Dwarven friend's rough, weathered face. His voice when spoke again was small and afraid. "I do not wish to go. I want to see the Fellowship reunited, and I want to be certain that Frodo and Sam are safe and unharmed. I want to watch Sauron fall, and live to see Middle Earth restored. I want to be there when Aragorn takes the crown. I want to show you the Greenwood." A sob escaped his pale lips as he thought of his home. "Ai, Gimli, I want to see my father."

"You are not going anywhere, you foolish Elf! Just you wait and see! You are not dying!"

"I _am_ dying, Gimli, and I am sorry. I feel my soul being tugged at by forces unseen, and I fear I must go. Mandos is summoning me, Gimli, and if I do not answer, I will not be admitted into his Halls." He sighed, and there was great sadness in the sound. "Mandos calls, and I _must_ answer."

Gimli was openly crying now. The tears ran freely into his beard. "Legolas, don't go. You ca--" Choking on the words, he repeated, "You can't go! To Mordor with Mandos! He can wait! It is not your time! You have so much left to do and see! We have emerged victorious, Legolas! The battle is over! The war is won! You must live to enjoy the rewards of our sacrifices and sufferings!"

"Gimli, if I am to be the last sacrifice in the name of the Free Peoples, it will be my greatest relief. _My_ suffering will end, and I will go forth to the Halls of Mandos knowing my death was not in vain."

"You will not suffer long! Aragorn will be here any moment! The hands of the king are the hands of a healer! You know this! Just hold on; Aragorn will come!"

"_Goheno nin,_"the Elf murmured.

"Forgive you?" Gimli asked. "Forgive you for what, Legolas? You have done nothing wrong."

"Forgive me, for not knowing how to say goodbye to you, Gimli."

"It doesn't matter if you don't know how to say goodbye! Goodbye is not necessary! You will _NOT _die, Legolas! You were supposed to outlive the entire Fellowship! You were the one we all were counting on to regale the journeys of the Nine Walkers for centuries after the other seven of us have gone! You are the one who will keep the memory of the War of the Ring alive!"

Legolas hardly skipped a beat. "There are no words to express my gratitude to the Valar for bringing such an amazing friend as you into my life. I would rather have you as my friend, son of Gloin, than all the Elves in Middle Earth. You have enriched my life in ways you cannot imagine, and I want to thank you for that. Gimli, promise me you will take care of yourself, and Aragorn. He will need you to help him say goodbye to me, and you know that stubborn man would never ask for the assistance of anyone."

"Ai, Legolas, how can I help him when I cannot even bear to say goodbye myself?"

The Elf managed a stern look. "Promise me."

Gimli whispered, his voice choked with emotion, "I promise."

Legolas was beginning to fight for breath now, and his words came haltingly between distressing gasps for air. "Master Dwarf, I have...to ask of you...a favor..."

Gimli leaned closer, his dark eyes searching those of his friend's as his heart ached at the familiarity of the old nickname. "Anything, Master Elf. Anything you ask."

"Go to...my...father, Gimli," Legolas rasped, his melodic voice fading in and out with each painfully uttered word. "Forgive him and release your...hatred toward him. I want you two...to reconcile your...differences and understand why I...loved you both. I want you both to know why in my eyes...you were equals. Please. For...me."

The Dwarf nodded emphatically. "You have my word. I will."

Legolas nodded too, but his was of relief. "_Hannon le_."

"No need to thank me, Legolas. Just hold on, now. You will yet come with me to your father's realm and watch us reconcile. Just think, Legolas, you will journey with me to the Greenwood, and see it restored in all its lush glory! Won't that be wonderful?"

But Legolas would have none of Gimli's babbling. He was resigned to the reality of his situation. He kept shaking his head until Gimli caught his chin in his hand and stared at him hard. "Stop acting as if this will be the last time we will talk, Legolas! It is not so!"

"Gimli," the Elf in his arms whispered. The agony-clouded eyes were filled with desperation, and were fixed on his best friend's face. "You have...been the...truest friend I've ever...had."

Legolas coughed, and Gimli tried to adjust him to help him breathe, but it was no use. The golden Elf was fading fast. Gimli felt a wave of panic begin to rise in his heart.

"Don't talk like that, foolish pointy-ear!" Gimli insisted, desperately trying to keep Legolas with him until Aragorn could get there. He brushed the fine hair away from Legolas's face. "You are going to be _fine. _When will you learn to trust this Dwarf, Master Elf, and take him at his word?"

"I love you, Gimli, son of Gloin, my friend until the end of Ilúvatar's song," Legolas whispered. "_Namárië, Elvellon._"

"No, Legolas Thranduilion," the Dwarf cried in a demanding tone, "don't you dare say goodbye to me! Hold on! You just have to hold on, Legolas, just a bit longer...help is on the way. Legolas, stay with me. Legolas! _Stay with me!"_

Gimli watched in absolute panic as the beautiful blue eyes darkened, then drifted closed slowly. The radiant aura that had always given the Elf a light of his own began diminishing, and he went limp as a wilted flower. "Legolas? Open your eyes! Legolas, wake up! Legolas?! No..._no!_ NO! _LEGOLAS!" _The Dwarf's usually growling baritone was raw and hoarse with grief.

Reality hit him like a spear to the heart. He clutched the still Elf closer to him, throwing his head back and releasing a keening wail of despair.

He was so caught up in his hysteria that he did not hear the running footsteps approaching.

Merry and Pippin were the first to arrive, their small swords drawn, thinking upon hearing the horrible sound that somehow a Warg had escaped being slain. They both skidded to a startled stop, seeing their frighteningly pale and motionless Elven friend cradled in the arms of the disconsolate Dwarf they had always revered as unwavering.

The horrified Hobbits looked desperately to Gandalf, who came upon the scene next, for answers, but the Maia was absolutely rendered speechless and immobile by the sight before him.

Eomer rode up on a dappled stallion, one of the few horses left uninjured in the battle. None had ever seen the Prince of the Mark, for all his legendary horsemanship skills, dismount that quickly, but once his feet touched the earth, he remained in one place as if he had grown roots, his dark eyes taking in the situation with mounting apprehension.

"Gimli, he's gone." The voice behind him was gentle, as were the hands that came to rest on his shoulders, which were shaking with the force of his sobbing.

He refused to look away from the Elf's pale face. It would have been unnecessary anyway; he knew it was Gandalf who had spoken.

"He cannot be!" the Dwarf ground out, suddenly becoming angry at the cruel fate his friend had been subjected to. "He is immortal! He is of the Eldar! A child of Ilúvatar! He is an _Elf_, by the Valar! Elves live forever! He is meant one day _far _into the future to set sail over the sea in one of those grey ships he rambles about, and head for Valinor, to the Grey Havens and the Undying Lands, to heed the call of those blasted gulls he's been aching over, to follow the fate of his people, not to die like this! I was supposed to die before him, and by Eru, _I wish it were so!_ Gandalf, it cannot be! Legolas cannot be gone!"

The wizard's face conveyed absolute sorrow as he listened to Gimli's rambling. After the Dwarf had tapered off to pitiful whimpers, Gandalf said softly, "Gimli, you must let him go."

"No! It cannot be!" the Dwarf moaned, fresh sobs tearing from his throat.

Footsteps thundered closer. Gimli knew the identity before he even saw the approaching figure who had yet to come upon this awful scene of death and sorrow.

Sure enough, Aragorn was running toward them. "What has happened?!" he cried, not fully comprehending the situation yet, but having known for quite awhile now with absolute certainty that something was terribly amiss.

"Legolas?" he asked, approaching slowly now, his confusion written all over his face as he recognized the supine form of his friend. "Ai Elbereth!" he cried, noticing the appalling amount of blood. "Legolas?!"

Gimli's heart broke as he watched recognition spread across the dirty face, his eyes widening and filling with dread. "Legolas?! Oh, no...Legolas?!"

Aragorn's mouth fell open in horror as he dropped heavily to his knees no more than a foot from Gimli and the lifeless Elf. His blood-spattered sword, Andúril, fell from his slack hand and clattered to the ground where it lay glinting dully in the sunlight.

Gimli relinquished his grip on Legolas unbidden for Aragorn, who took the listless body gently into his arms, watching the still face intently for any signs of life. But there were none.

As far as everyone who witnessed it was concerned, the entire world fell to pieces as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, leader of the Fellowship and future King of Men, lowered his anguished face until it was buried deep in the golden hair, and let loose a series of heart-wrenching, hysterical sobs that seemed to come from the very center of his soul.


	6. For the Sake of One

**Author's Note** - I felt in my heart that something was missing from this story, and now it is complete. Finally. This is the scene of the death of Legolas, told from the point of view of the Elf himself. Sorry if it is depressing. I had to do it before the plot bunny gnawed my foot clear off.

* * *

Hours dragged by, and still the Battle of the Pelennor Fields raged on.

Legolas fought with every ounce of valor he possessed. It seemed that for every enemy he slaughtered, five more took his place. It was exhausting, but the Elf refused to let himself be slowed by his weariness. His very life depended on the accuracy of his aim, the agility of his fighting stances, the sharpness of his concentration, and the rapidity of his reflexes. He employed everything he had learned over millennia of warrior-training and battle experience, and he kept count in his head as each enemy fell to the precision of his arrows. Eventually, he planned to rub his impressive total in the Dwarf's face. He knew without a doubt that Gimli was hoping to do the very same thing.

Speaking of the Dwarf, he seemed to be doing just fine himself. For some time, Gimli had been fighting bravely near him, but as the battle intensified, they had become separated. Legolas tried as much as possible to keep one eye on the Dwarf, to be sure that he was safe, but it was difficult, as the enemy was _everywhere_ and it took almost all his concentration to kill before being killed.

Suddenly, something forced him to look up and seek the location of his Dwarven friend. The sense of foreboding that surrounded his soul was very quickly deemed appropriate as Legolas took in the horror about to take place. Fear gripped his heart, constricting like a closed fist, as he watched a Haradrim soldier atop a _mûmak_ lift a hand wielding a spear and take aim at Gimli. The stout warrior was far too busy dispatching the dozen or so Orcs who had encircled him to realize what was happening.

His blue eyes were huge as he cried out the Dwarf's name, but it was lost to the chaos of battle, and when Gimli did not move or even turn around, Legolas knew what he had to do. Without thinking, he leapt right into the path of the Haradrim's spear, howling in misery as the deadly barb met an unintended mark, piercing into vulnerable flesh near the Elf's heart and sending agony coursing through the lithe body.

He swayed on his feet, his eyes slipping shut for the briefest of moments as his mind wrapped around the reality of the situation. He had been hit. He had _allowed himself _to be hit. He swallowed, tasting blood, and watched in mounting horror as the warrior from Harad let down a rope and began to descend from his enormous mount. It was obvious he was no longer interested in slaying the Dwarf. He was coming after Legolas now!

The Elf reached up, and with an agonized cry wrenched free the spear that was embedded in his chest. The pain nearly brought him to his knees. Dizzily, he stumbled backward, but managed to remain standing somehow even as the world spun sickeningly around him. He closed his eyes with a groan, willing the earth to stop moving long enough to regain his sense of balance. He needed to fight back! He couldn't be so preoccupied with his equilibrium when his life was in jeopardy!

When everything stopped spinning, he gritted his teeth and faced the man from the South who had tried to kill his dearest friend and in the process had instead wounded him, and sent the foul weapon sailing right back at him. It rammed into the Haradrim's chest with enough force to knock him over. He reached back into his depleting supply of arrows, and one by one fired them into the bodies of the men remaining in the _howdah_ that had carried the one who had first impaled him.

Satisfied that he had exacted his revenge, Legolas took in a shaky breath. He made a slow circle, taking in the carnage around him, searching for his friends. To his dismay, none were to be seen. Even Gimli had been swept off elsewhere in the skirmish, lost to the crowds of enemies and comrades alike who battled viciously for their lives. He was all alone.

For the moment, he was too exhausted to try to find them. Taking refuge behind the enormous corpse of a fallen Warg, he sank to his knees, trying to take a moment to gather his wits about him before attempting to plunge back into the fray. All around him, he heard the clanking of blades against protective armor, the battle cries of various cultures, the squeals and screams of injured and dying Orcs, the stomp of the feet and the trumpeting of the _mûmakil, _the blare of rallying horns, and the whinnying of frightened horses. But here, for the moment at least, he felt safe. His chin dropped to his chest, his breathing fast and shallow as tears leaked from his eyes. The hurt he was forced to endure was immeasurable. His hair slipped over his shoulders, swinging to curtain his face as it crumpled in misery.

* * *

His moment of respite was cut short, however, when his thoughts were interrupted by a sickening sound of splintering and cracking. Legolas felt his heart stop when he looked up just in time to see the _howdah _which had been carrying his dispatched foes crashing down toward him.

The entire tower-like wooden structure plummeted down onto him, throwing him hard to the ground and burying him in debris as it shattered on impact. The dust that the explosion churned up threatened to choke him, and he gasped for breath, his lungs burning.

Suddenly, everything was so dark. He couldn't believe that the splintered wood had completely buried him, yet it must have, Legolas realized with growing dread. He could see nothing. No sunlight was visible whatsoever.

And oh, how he hurt. His entire body was tender to the touch. It became evident to Legolas that his ribs were broken, as was his bow-arm. He felt rather than saw the dark bruises that covered his pale skin. The stab-wound on his chest was gushing blood in a steady, rhythmic pulse. The circle of crimson was spreading rapidly, staining the left half of his green tunic. He could not move enough to remove his garments to see the wound in all its ugliness, so gingerly he lifted shaking fingers to prod at it gently, trying to feel the extent of the damage, and was rewarded by a jarring wave of agony so strong it made him scream.

_Ai, my wound is mortal. _The horrible thought came unbidden to his reeling mind. He tried in vain to deny it, wanting more than anything to believe he was wrong, but he knew better. His heart knew better. It was over. All the millennia of his past and those that were meant to belong to him in the future; ripped away from him in a single instant. The irony was almost too much to bear.

He had spent almost all of his life thriving somehow under the shadows that veiled the forest he called home. He had battled enormous, venomous spiders while patrolling the border for his father the king, the Watcher at the entrance to the Mines of Moria, goblins and cave trolls in the tomb of Balin the Dwarf, Orcs at Amon Hen and then at Helm's Deep, ghosts in the Paths of the Dead, and now countless others here at the Pelennor Fields.

And yet, after surviving all the trials and tribulations life had already thrown into his path, Legolas was fated to die at the tip of a spear not even meant for him.

He would die here, on a reeking, blood-covered battlefield outside a stone city that was rapidly falling to evil. He would never know the outcome of this fray; he would never know if the Ringbearer accomplished his mission. He would never know if good prevailed over evil. He would never know if the Dark Lord would be destroyed, if Middle Earth was once again be restored to peace and prosperity.

Tears slipped from his tortured eyes. He would perish here, buried alive under the shattered war-carriage of his enemies and pinned down by the weight of his misery and the uncooperativeness of his broken body. His friends would not find him in time, if they found him at all. He would face his death alone.

He would never see his father again. The thought caused a huge lump to rise in his throat. Ai, how he had let his king down! How he had let his _kingdom _down!

In the darkness of his prison under the enemy's planks, he wept bitterly for the loss of his immortality.

* * *

After his sobs had subsided to small whimpers, a strange question entered his bleary thoughts and confused him enough to send him into silent reflection. Would he do it all over again, if time reversed and he was again given the choice to step forth and accept the task of aiding Frodo? _Yes, _his heart cried. _A thousand times, yes!_

He had made the most incredible friends on this journey. He had felt a real sense of purpose for the first time in his long life. He had joined the Fellowship for many reasons: his respect for Lord Elrond, his love for Aragorn, his desire to protect the Ringbearer…but most of all, to rise against the evil that threatened the prosperity of Middle Earth. He didn't want to be a hero; he wanted to be a guardian. And now he would be just another fallen warrior. Ai, how he had failed!

Most of all, he failed the one he had promised to shield from harm. He had failed Frodo. His heart ached for the young Hobbit, who had seen far too much for a creature who had barely had a chance to live yet.

His was a burden far heavier than any should be forced to bear. He carried the fate of Middle Earth on a simple chain around his neck, and Legolas did not envy him the momentous task, although he would gladly have taken on the burden of the Ring himself if only to no longer be forced to helplessly watch the young Halfling stumble under its weight.

Yet he knew Frodo would succeed. There was great strength in the small creature, and Legolas had known immediately and never doubted his capacity for greatness. In that respect, to the Elf's mind at least, the Hobbit was so much like Aragorn.

_Aragorn._ He choked on a sob as he thought of the Ranger. He loved the man as a brother; had in fact watched him come of age under the careful guidance of Lord Elrond in Rivendell. Aragorn was the only one he felt secure enough with to share his deepest secret, and he had never regretted his decision, for Aragorn had never breathed a word of it to another soul inhabiting this world. He knew that without having ever questioned the man.

It seemed like eternity tiptoed by, and the heavy silence that eventually fell over the battlefield puzzled Legolas. Was it over? He had no way of knowing. Perhaps the screeching he had heard earlier had been that of the Nazgûl, claiming the lives of each and every one of his friends and dooming the fate of Middle Earth to the corruption of Sauron.

Perhaps he was the last vestige of virtue. _How ironic_, he thought bitterly, _if my death which has been inevitably creeping closer takes longer to come upon me than that of my comrades._

Legolas was so very tired. His eyelids felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds, and forces unseen were trying to drag him into blackness.

_So _this_ is what it feels like to die._

Before he could contemplate the alien feelings further –or worse yet, give into them– a familiar sound startled him out of his reverie. He heard the heavy footfalls and his heart lurched. Only one could walk so heavily. Only one had mail that rattled so unmistakably and armor that clanked so distinctly.

_Gimli._

Licking his dry lips and swallowing hard, he tried to call out the name of his friend, to no avail at first. Frustrated tears sprang to his eyes, and he coughed, trying to regain his voice before it was too late and the Dwarf advanced too far beyond his place of burial to hear him.

Finally, his strained efforts met with success, but the voice that tore from his parched throat was hardly his own as he cried out weakly, "Gimli…" There was no response, so he tried again, over and over, until his sharp hearing detected that the hurried footsteps were approaching rather than departing from him.

"Legolas!" His name ringing in his own ears had never sounded so beautiful. "Legolas! Legolas, speak to me!"

He rasped out the Dwarf's name one last time before his voice failed him, but it proved enough, for the short creature was upon him and frantically digging to unearth his fallen body.

Sunlight suddenly broke through, blinding Legolas and making him moan in pain, but it was welcome all the same. When his blurred vision cleared, he blinked away the tears and saw the most wonderful sight.

Legolas stared up into the familiar, beloved face of his friend, as if he was committing every detail to memory…but it was not so, for he already knew the Dwarf by heart.

Gimli was not the most perceptive creature Legolas had ever encountered. He certainly did not display a talent for meticulous observation, and relied more on his instincts than his intuition.

Yet he always knew what Legolas was thinking, feeling, worrying about, analyzing…often before even the Elf himself could figure it out. He knew _Legolas_ by heart.

From the moment Gimli discovered him, it seemed like everything happened in slow motion. Through the haze that lingered at the edges of the unconsciousness that threatened to claim him at any moment, he carried on a sorrowful dialogue with his best friend.

As time wore on, Legolas could barely grasp what was happening, but he knew somehow that he was trying simultaneously to comfort his worry-stricken friend and say goodbye to him. He knew Gimli would argue, and he had never wanted to bicker with the Dwarf more, but he lacked the strength. He heard himself telling his friend to take care of Aragorn, and bidding Gimli to promise that he would visit the realm of his father and reconcile with Thranduil. But it seemed as if he was not controlling his actions. It all felt so unreal to him.

A new question filled his wearied mind. _Would I have looked for Gimli again, and put myself in the path of that spear aimed for him, knowing now that it has come at such a price?_ His tears ran freely down his face as he nodded fervently to himself. _Yes_. _I would sacrifice it all again for the sake of one. For the sake of my friend. It is worth the price of everything to know that he is safe…that I kept him safe when he needed me most._

Now, in the comfort of his dear friend's embrace, he whispered a loving farewell and allowed himself to give in to the blessed blackness. His last thought echoed into the silence as his sad fate claimed him. _Malenfín…_


	7. Without His Light

**Author's Note** - Ah, faithful readers, I would advise that you keep the box of tissues within reach, as this chapter has turned out to be kind of depressing too.

And thank you to my astute reviewer Nieriel Raina for correcting my mistake about Lingering. I have edited that part out, as it wasn't wholly necessary anyway.

* * *

_"Gimli, promise me you will take care of yourself, and Aragorn. He will need you to help him say goodbye to me, and you know that stubborn man would never ask for the assistance of anyone."_

The Dwarf rubbed his temples as the Elf's words echoed through his mind. _You requested no easy task, Legolas._

As he came upon the man, he knew that the task might very well prove impossible. Everyone who loved Aragorn had already come in turn to request that he return to the castle, bringing the Elf with him. But Aragorn would hear none of it, and have none of it. He refused to so much as tear his gaze from the pale face turned up toward his.

He was exactly as Gimli had left him, and exactly as everyone had described him as they returned, frustrated and disappointed that they could not help their friend. He sat cross-legged in a patch of trampled, brown grass, holding Legolas and staring down at him as though still not believing that he was really gone.

Aragorn spoke without even glancing up. "Gimli, I know what you would say, and I ask that you save your words and leave me." There was no anger in his voice...in fact, upon further inspection, there was nothing in his voice. It was just...empty.

Gimli steadied himself against the ache in his soul. Only the passing of a creature as incredible as the Elf in his arms could reduce this battle-hardened man to such unconsolability.

_I will not let you down, crazy Elf. I have not forgotten my promise._

He cleared his throat, mostly to force down the lump that rose unbidden. "Aragorn, you cannot possibly remain out here all night. You'll catch your de--" He quickly re-phrased that. "You'll catch a chill. It would not do to have the man who led us into victory fall ill and be unable to help us celebrate."

"It matters not." The man did not look up from the Elf's face. "I feel nothing."

"You feel agony, and that is expected. We all feel agony. We all have lost a close friend today, Aragorn, but you are the only one who insists on sitting out here, holding him, as if freezing yourself to death will help bring _him_ back."

Aragorn, for his part, ignored Gimli's words. "Elbereth, he's still beautiful...even in death." He ran his palm gently over the lustrous hair, marvelling as always at the downy texture. "I would give anything to have him alive again, Gimli."

"We all would, but he is gone. There are no words to express how much that saddens me, but it cannot be reversed."

Still Aragorn said nothing.

This time, the Dwarf tried a different approach. "You know the fool Elf would thump you in the head for being out here this long."

"Aye, but he never will." Thoughtfully, he traced a finger along the leaf-shaped ear. "Never again."

Gimli surprised him by doing what Legolas could not. "Aragorn!" he snapped sharply, withdrawing his hand as the man stared in shock at him. _I should never have struck him, but at least he has desisted in merely sitting there like a stone statue._ "Snap out of this stupor!"

Aragorn's mouth fell open, and had the circumstances been different, Gimli would have roared with laughter at seeing the future King of Men gawping at him in such utter disbelief. Ordinarily, it would have been downright comical.

But he was too miserable to laugh, or even to smile. "Aragorn," he repeated, softer now, "you must not let your grief consume you. I share your pain, and I am here for you. We will need each other. Everyone will need to come together to mourn his passing, and then accept it and remember him fondly."

Aragorn did not appear angry. He just seemed...defeated. "You are right, Gimli, of course. I apologize. I am just uncertain about what to do now. I went through this war beside him because I knew that he believed in me. The fool thought I could do anything, but now I cannot even rise to my feet. He would think me pathetic, and he would be right. But you see, Gimli, it was because of Legolas that I had hope. And now..."

"There is still hope. There is _always_ hope."

The man seemed not to hear him. "Do you not fear as I do, that without his light, no one will be able to see the way?"

"He would have followed you into the depths of Mount Doom, Aragorn. You were HIS light, and you led the way for him. For all of us. Will you forsake us now? Legolas would not have it, Aragorn, and you know this."

"Naturally. I can't keep him forever."

"No," came the soft reply, "not in your arms, at least. In your heart, without a doubt."

Aragorn brushed away a tear. "Aye. He will always have a place there."

"He should be taken back to Minas Tirith," Gimli said, his voice tender. "There are many who have not yet been able to properly say goodbye." He paused, then added gruffly, "And I'm chilled to the bone from this blasted wind."

Aragorn laughed. "I apologize, friend. I have...not been not myself these past few hours."

"It is forgivable, Ranger. Now, let us return to the City."

Aragorn nodded, carefully removing Legolas's quiver, all the while holding fast to the Elf. He held it out to Gimli, who accepted it. Then the man carefully rose to his feet, still cradling his precious burden in his arms.

Gimli watched forlornly as the Elf's neck arched back, and the long hair spilled down in an aureate torrent. Tears sprang to his eyes again, but he forced himself to look away. Seeing his dear friend so vulnerable and lifeless nearly cleaved his heart in half.

Rather than watching Aragorn adjust the wand-slender body so as not to lose his grasp, the Dwarf busied himself with the task of carefully retrieving the bow of Galadriel from the pile of broken planks. He braced himself against a wave of hurt as he realized that Legolas would never fire it with that legendary accuracy again. Swallowing hard, he stroked one finger along the polished curve. He had perpetually mocked Legolas as lazy for using such a long-distance weapon, but in truth (and Legolas knew it too) the Dwarf was always astonished by his bowmanship skills, and he would rather stand by no other side than the Elf's in battle.

_Ah, Legolas, how I miss our taunting contests...even if you were always quicker of wit and it annoyed me to no mercy._

"Tell me your thoughts, friend Gimli." Aragorn's voice startled him out of his reverie. "You're grinning from ear to ear."

The other chuckled. "So I am," he conceded with a shrug. "I was thinking how much I would give to bicker aimlessly with him, just once more."

"You two had a very...bizarre way of displaying your affection toward one another."

This surprised a laugh from Gimli, and he reached to take Legolas's hand. "Indeed, but we held each other in high regard nevertheless, and it was all too implicit to us."

Aragorn had to smile. "You never fooled us, Master Dwarf, although I know how much you would like to think so. We knew you two cared for each other more than you dared let on, lest we might know of the blossoming friendship between the two most unlikely creatures in Middle Earth to ever forge an alliance."

"At least we did not flaunt it," the Dwarf returned, toying with his beard and giving the man a teasingly condescending smirk. "You two did not even attempt to hide it. Legolas never thought to torment you. I was his sole intended target."

"As if you would have had it any other way," came the cool reply.

Gimli grinned, elbowing the man in the ribs playfully. "Indeed. I still wish he had made a fool of you at some point. He flattered you so often I'll be surprised if the crown of Gondor fits your head. He never so much as cast a scornful glance your way."

Aragorn let out a roar of laughter. "Ah, but I beg to differ, Gimli."

The Dwarf snorted. "Nonsense. Legolas was head over pointed ears for you. In his eyes, you could do no wrong. It was I that was a bane to his existence." There was absolutely no resentment in his tone, only amusement. His dark eyes twinkled with mirth.

Aragorn shook his head. "I could probably easily think of no less than five occasions where I have been the prey of his Elven mischief."

"Oh? Prove it. Name _one_ instance where our fair Elf-Prince did not treat you with the utmost reverence."

"Very well." The man pondered on this for a moment, delving far into his memories of Legolas. Then he let out a sound that was caught somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. "I'll never forget the time I woke up from a long nap, and was shocked to find that my hair was braided into about a thousand tiny plaits."

I knew with every fiber of my being that Legolas had done it. He's the only one who's fast enough at braiding to accomplish it at all. I shouted his name so loudly that Elladan and Elrohir came running to see what the commotion was. I have never seen them laugh so hard in all the time I've known them."

And of course, Legolas meandered in casually five minutes later, in absolutely no hurry whatsoever, and he was the very picture of perfect innocence. Really, his flair for acting was impressive. He never did admit to it, but I could not stay angry at him long enough to force him to confess, either."

Gimli released a hearty guffaw. "Aye, that sounds like that insufferable Elf, all right."

Aragorn stopped for a moment, and Gimli did too, giving him a curious look.

"Thank you, Gimli," the man said, everything about his expression belying how grateful he truly felt. "I appreciate your comfort. You have made me feel more optimistic about my chances at overcoming this awful thing that has happened. Perhaps we can both help each other to look back at our time, however brief, with the son of Thranduil, and laugh rather than cry."

For Gimli's part, he just smiled and nodded, clasping Aragorn's shoulder in a gesture of brotherly affection.

Together, in companionable silence, each lost in his own happy reminiscence, they brought their beloved friend back to the White City.

_See, Legolas, a Dwarf always keeps his promises._


	8. Travel Plans

Having finished his story, Gimli looked to his new friend, who appeared absolutely spent. "I am sorry, Malenfín," he murmured regretfully.

The fair Elf sat stiffly in his chair, his shoulders slumping as he stared at the tabletop, his long fingers absently tracing over the swirled patterns of the grain. Tears glittered in his downcast blue eyes, but did not fall. "You tried to save him. What need have you to apologize? You did everything you could to ease his passing, Gimli, and for that I am very thankful. He did not suffer alone."

"Nor did he suffer long."

Malenfín thought for a moment, then straightened his posture and answered politely, "Thank you, Master Dwarf, for your honest retelling. I suppose that is what I came to Aglarond for, and between hearing the story and finding out just why my father adored you so, my trip was not wasted."

Gimli smiled, patting the Elf's knee. "This may well be the weakest consolatory remark in history, Malenfín, and I apologize if it comes across as trite, but at the very least, be proud that your father died a hero. Aye, it was hideously untimely, but he died fighting for the things he believed in and the people he loved."

Malenfín nodded with a sigh. "I wish I could have known him. I do not have any memories of him."

"Perhaps it would help to meet your grandfather. We could take a trip out to the kingdom of Thranduil, if you would like. He would love to meet you."

"I doubt it," the Elf countered, shaking his head. "He never knew of my existence for a reason."

"Your mother was only trying to protect Legolas. His father's temper is legendary."

"He would be furious to know that Legolas had lied, and I am quite certain he would not be happy to find out from me, his son's illegitimate son. Besides, if I resemble him as much as you claim, it might only hurt him."

"He lost his son, but he would be thrilled to know that _all_ of Legolas is not lost," Gimli told Malenfín softly. "He would be beside himself with joy to know Legolas bore a son almost exactly like him, regardless of the circumstances of the birth. You might fill in the void your father's passing left in his heart. The Elven-King will welcome you with open arms, Malenfín. Of that, I am certain."

"I believe he would not cast me aside. Naturally not. We are family, after all. I just fear suddenly appearing out of nowhere and saying, 'Greetings, Grandfather Thranduil! I am the only son of your only son!' might only serve to tear open old wounds."

"Or it might help to heal them closed once and for all," the Dwarf offered gently. After a pause, he chuckled and thought out loud, "He will be too busy glaring at me and trying to intimidate me into leaving his lands to even notice you for several days, most likely, so you will have plenty of time to formulate a plan for introducing yourself."

Malenfín chuckled. "Surely he does not despise you so."

Gimli arched a bushy brow. "Would you care to make a wager on that?"

The Elf laughed. "No. I just cannot imagine my father's father being so capable of holding a grudge that ought to have ended centuries ago."

"Ah, but remember that he is known not only for his reckless temper, but his astounding ability to hold grudges. Remember, Legolas and I were not always friends either. We were not even friendly; indeed, not even civil. We tried to avoid and even ignore each other for the entire first leg of our journey. It wasn't until we came upon Lórien that we acknowledged that our hatred of each other was petty and unfounded for reasons of our own. It was the Lady Galadriel who made us see that we should be stronger than our fathers, and forge an alliance rather than continue the estrangement."

The young Elf's smile reached all the way to his sparkling eyes. "Well, perhaps _I _can make you see that you and my grandfather should do the same."

"Let us hope so," Gimli sighed. "Otherwise, we are both in for a very awkward visit with the Elven-King." He placed a hand on the Elf's thin shoulder. "I must say, you are so very similar to your father. He also thought only of others. He never concerned himself with how things affected him; rather, he went out of his way to avoid doing things he would have enjoyed in order to protect the feelings of the people he cared for. I know that you are afraid you will hurt your grandfather, and that is very admirable of you to think of him first even in your excitement to meet him at last, but I want you to understand that he will accept you no matter what, because you are his closest tie to his son. Do not fear for his sake."

"It is rather far out of the way on the journey to Greenwood," mused Malenfín, "but I would rather like to visit my mother and King Elessar in Gondor first, if only to seek their advice as to how to approach my grandfather after so very many years."

"I think that would be very wise. The King has had many dealings with Thranduil, and knows his temperaments and how best to negotiate through them."

"Perhaps I could join you in Thranduil's realm later," he suggested, ignoring Gimli's subsequent wince.

"It is actually in the other direction," the Dwarf pondered, fighting back a much more irrational hailstorm of protests, "but I would like to go as well, if you wouldn't mind a bit of company. I have not visited with the King and Queen in at least a year. Besides, there is absolutely no chance that I would be able to enter the Greenwood without an Elven escort."

"They would love to see you," the Elf replied, "and I would very much enjoy riding to Gondor with you. We will travel together after to my grandfather's home."

"Then it is settled." Gimli clapped his hands together firmly. "We ride tomorrow after breakfast to Gondor, then in four days we are off to Greenwood." He barely resisted the urge to grimace.

_Off to Greenwood...Aulë help us..._


	9. Inheritance

_**Author's Note** - In the interest of preserving your sanity, my readers, I have chosen not to babble on about the trip to Gondor. I am keeping the chronicling of the long journey short and sweet._

_Oh, and just for your information, the portion of the story that is italicized is a flashback, in case I ultimately didn't make that as clear as I think I did._

* * *

Gimli thoroughly enjoyed showing Malenfín the glories of Aglarond. He always wished he could have taken Legolas on a tour, but now he was satisfied that at least one Elf he respected had seen the place he was so incredibly proud of. 

For his part, Malenfín was extremely impressed by the masonry expertise of the Dwarves that was all too evident in the ornate and careful stonework that comprised the living areas of the Glittering Caves. He also was very touched that Gimli wanted him to see his home and all the wonders within it. It struck the Elf as a hard-won honor his father had procured for him.

* * *

The morning of their highly anticipated trip to Gondor came faster than they had expected. 

After wolfing down a hearty breakfast, they packed some dried fruit and water skins, attaching them along with their weapons (Malenfín carried a bow, as to be expected) to the saddle of a roan horse the Dwarves typically used for the transfer of supplies and stone during building projects or bartering trips. Malenfín was relieved that they were not forced to ride a pony, and when he voiced this out loud, Gimli roared with laughter.

* * *

When they arrived in Elessar's kingdom, after approximately eighteen days and nights of riding with very few breaks, Malenfín took a deep breath, relieved to be home at last. They approached the first gate, and when Gimli announced himself and mentioned that his travelling companion was the son of Legolas Thranduilion, the guards were quick to permit them both entrance into the White City. 

They dismounted (or, rather, the Elf dismounted and Gimli more or less slid off and landed on his seat with an unceremonious thump which irritated him to no end) upon reaching the first circle. A skittish stableboy hurried forward to take the reins from Malenfín, who offered him a few pieces of gold for his efforts and suggested a bran mash for the horse along with a nice bath and brushing indulgence.

Gimli was surprised when the great front doors of the inner castle burst open noisily, startling them both a bit, and Aragorn himself came rushing out to meet them. It was very un-Kingly, but Aragorn had been made aware of their arrival by the tower guards who lounged in their posts only for the possibility of a Haradrim attack. He harbored absolutely no intentions of forcing them to enter and greet him upon his throne. Gimli was his friend, after all, and an equal in his eyes, and Malenfín was practically his son. No such formalities were necessary.

The King of Gondor swept them both into a hug, exclaiming warm salutations and inquiring about their trip. The Elf and Dwarf each answered his flurry of questions through their laughter.

"Malenfín," the King said after the formal niceties were exchanged, not wishing to keep his guests waiting now that the Elf and the Dwarf were here, "your mother would be delighted to see you. She is in her chambers now, if you wish to go to her. I will entertain our Dwarven friend here until after dinner, when I have a surprise planned for you."

Malenfín grinned. He was never one to turn down surprises. "I will return after dinner," he echoed, then hurried off to find the Queen and seek her advice on how best to handle introductions to this temperamental and intimidating grandfather Gimli had spoken of.

* * *

After dinner had commenced, the three friends made their agreed rendezvous where they had last been together, before the castle gates. 

Wasting no time, Aragorn placed a hand on the Elf's shoulder. "I have a gift for you, Malenfín," he said, "and it has been a long time coming."

Malenfín smiled. "I am certain it is wonderful, my King. I cannot wait to behold what you deem me worthy for."

"Lead the way, my lord," Gimli offered when a pause fell over them, knowing that the exchange of appreciative comments might otherwise go on forever.

The King began to walk in the direction of the stables. Gimli was confused, but asked no questions. He trusted Aragorn to know where they were heading and why.

As soon as they entered the stables and he saw the white horse's head peering out from the door of his stall, he knew, and his heart flooded with warmth.

The three unlikely companions headed toward the stall, and a pair of inquisitive dark eyes watched their approach.

"This is Arod, a gift-horse from Rohan," Aragorn told Malenfín as he opened the stall door and rested a soothing hand on the horse's velvety muzzle. "He belonged to your father." The animal let out a snort, and the man laughed. "I apologize. Arod _belongs_ to no one, but your father was his primary rider. Better, Arod?" He smiled. "He is sure-footed and swift, and wild enough to still have a free spirit, but he is very tolerant, especially of Elves. You should have no trouble."

Malenfín's eyes were bright as he reached out to graze his fingers along the horse's gleaming silvery-white coat. "He is radiant," he breathed, stroking Arod's flank reverently. "Thank you, Aragorn."

The two friends watched in silence as Malenfín murmured something to Arod in Elvish, looking deep into the watery brown eyes. The horse nickered softly, and the Elf laughed when a cold nose was pushed into his upturned palm.

"I think that is his way of giving his permission for me to ride him," Malenfín announced, smiling with pride as he mounted. Arod had accepted him, and he had immediately gotten the impression that this horse was not easily won over.

As the young Elf swung easily onto the bare back of the stallion, Gimli and Aragorn both sucked in their breath. He looked exactly as his father had.

Aragorn rested his hand on his friend's shoulder, and Gimli in turn reached up and placed his hand atop it. They were silent, both thinking the very same thing.

_Legolas would love to see this._

Malenfín whispered an Elvish command, and Arod responded immediately, taking off at a great gallop.

Gimli and Aragorn watched his departure, both still in awe of how much he resembled his father.

Finally, after a long moment of reflection, they turned to each other. Again, they were thinking the same thing, but this time, it was completely different. Their lips curved into knowing smiles as they realized their desires were mutual.

_Pipe time._

* * *

They returned to the city, and once inside the king's firelit chambers, they lit their respective pipes and sat smoking in companionable silence, each lost to his own thoughts for awhile. 

It was Aragorn who spoke first. "Malenfín is incredible."

Gimli nodded. "Of course he is. He's Legolas's son," he replied matter-of-factly.

Aragorn's smile was dazzling. "Well said, my friend."

Gimli thoughtfully puffed on his pipe, then revealed, "I thought my heart would either burst or break watching him ride Arod this afternoon."

The King sighed. "He looked exactly as Legolas used to. I had no idea how much it would hurt to see another on Legolas's horse."

"Legolas would want someone to have him, Aragorn. You did the right thing. After all, who better to inherit the creature than the child of he who loved him most? Arod grieved too. Do you not remember how miserable he was after Legolas's death? He refused to eat for days, and wouldn't even look at the stableboys for weeks. You know he recognizes Legolas in Malenfín, and I am certain it soothes the silly beast. It will help them both, Aragorn."

The man nodded. "I know, Gimli, but it will be hard to not have him around. Arod was Legolas's horse, and I got used to seeing him when I went to the stables. It was like having Legolas here."

"Perhaps you can sweet-talk Malenfín into living here permanently. Then it would _really_ be like having Legolas here."

Aragorn chuckled. "I might try, if Thranduil does not insist that he stay in Eryn Lasgalen."

Gimli sighed. "Speaking of Thranduil...I am dreading that visit more than you would believe."

"Oh, I know how you two despise each other. I would recommend avoiding the King at all costs. His temper alone could serve to be your demise."

"That is the problem, my friend," the Dwarf responded, sounding sad. "Legolas's dying wish was that the Elven-King and I reconcile our differences and try to be friendly toward one another. I promised I would. If Thranduil doesn't kill me first, I will keep that promise."

Aragorn actually winced. "A hefty pledge."

"And impossible."

"Nay, rather hefty, but not impossible. You both want to do what Legolas would have wanted. If that was his last request, you both will do all that is in your power to fulfill it. He will have to move past his negative feelings about Dwarves," and here his tone turned stern, "and you will have to move past _yours_ about Elven-Kings."

Gimli rolled his dark eyes. "I do not care for Thranduil, but after befriending Legolas, I find it increasingly difficult to ignorantly hate Elves."

"Thank the Valar!" Aragorn declared, laughing. "You cannot imagine how annoying it was to listen to Legolas and you bickering. I would hate to know that you and his father are doing the same."

"I want this visit to go smoothly, for Malenfín's sake. He will come with me, mostly for my own peace of mind in case the Elves of Greenwood are itching for target practice, but also so that he can meet his grandfather. I do not want Thranduil to shame us both by being snide or even spiteful in front of Legolas's child. I would shave my beard clean off before Malenfín knew how deep this grudge runs between us."

"May I offer you a piece of advice?" the man asked. At Gimli's fervent nod, he smiled and continued, "If I were you, I would go to Thranduil first and negotiate a truce. After you two have managed to maintain a level of civility, I would bring Malenfín and introduce him to his grandfather. It will help to ensure that the truce endures longer than, well, the visit. Once Thranduil sees that Legolas has a son, he will be thankful that you brought him. Grudge resolved."

The Dwarf considered this. "A good thought," he conceded after a moment. "You are very wise, King of Gondor."

Aragorn shrugged. "It's leverage. Very simple. This is strategy, not wisdom, Master Dwarf."

Gimli shook his head as if to clear it of all thoughts of Thranduil. To better do so, he changed the subject entirely. "I cannot believe Legolas fathered a son and never told me," he mused out loud, goading Aragorn into commenting.

"He never told me either, Gimli, if it is any consolation. Arwen told me."

The Dwarf grumbled, "At least _someone_ told you. Malenfín briefly explained to me that the Lady Arwen told you before the Quest, but no more was said on the matter."

Aragorn nodded. "Just so you understand, Master Dwarf, I never begrudged Legolas," he clarified firmly. "I had not even come into this world when Thranduil and Elrond made that marriage agreement between them."

The Dwarf was flabbergasted. "This is the first I've heard of a marriage agreement between Legolas and the Evenstar!"

"Well, it was kept very quiet. They wanted to be certain it was a good match before they announced it to everyone. There are still many who do not know it ever existed."

Gimli shook his head. "So Malenfín was an experiment to test the compatibility of Legolas and Arwen?" he asked, sounding disgusted.

"Oh, no, no, Gimli, do not misunderstand me," Aragorn answered quickly. "No children were expected at all, as Thranduil and Elrond both agreed that the Elves were fading and bringing any more of them into this world would be a mistake. They decided Elflings would only become targets for Orcs. The danger was too great."

The Dwarf was utterly confused, but before he could voice his frustrations, Aragorn beat him to it. "Gimli, let me finish and you will understand. Legolas and Arwen fell in love, much to their fathers' surprise. They had not expected cooperation from the young Elves, but nevertheless they had it, and they were thrilled. Unfortunately, the bond became very, very deep between them, and...well, Malenfín was conceived."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as the Dwarf tried very hard to keep his imagination out of this conversation.

To spare Gimli the awkward details, Aragorn concluded, "Elrond discovered that Arwen was with child, and quickly nullified the agreement, telling Thranduil only that he wished for his daughter to have a Noldor Elf as her husband. Thranduil was angry, I am certain, but he took Legolas back to Mirkwood, and the marriage pact was soon forgotten. Once Thranduil learned that Arwen was in fact with child, however, he insulted Elrond with accusations that the Lord of Rivendell had insisted on Arwen and Legolas beginning a family so that his daughter could bear a child of royal descent, rather than merely the blood of Half-Elves. Needless to say, the two Elf-lords are still enemies to this day and refuse to speak."

As for the parents-to-be, Legolas and Arwen were kept apart until the Council was called for the Fellowship to be created. So far as I know, they did not speak then either, although each came to me separately to explain the situation. I was not angry, for by this time, Arwen had fallen in love with me and I was best friends with Legolas, who was amazingly supportive of my budding relationship with his child's mother."

I think their love faded because they lost hope, but I would never have been angry at Legolas had I known he was still in love with her. Who can blame him? My wife is absolutely wonderful. I am glad that she chose me, but am also glad that she and Legolas enjoyed the brief romance that they did, and I love Malenfín as though he were my own son. I do not dislike him for being so similar to his father...in fact, nothing makes me happier."

The Dwarf grinned. "And for that, I am very proud, Aragorn. You are by far the most forgiving and understanding man I've ever met."

Aragorn shrugged. "As if anyone could be angry with Legolas for very long, anyway."

"Good point," came the answer, and they both chuckled.

The King watched thoughtfully for a moment as his friend smoked happily, then allowed himself to succumb to the onslaught of memories that had been plaguing him since he had explained the circumstances of Legolas and Arwen's child's birth.

His mind travelled back to the day of his coronation.

* * *

_The coronation ceremony was beautiful, and there was not a dry eye in the entire courtyard when Aragorn bowed his head with all due humility and accepted the gleaming crown of Gondor. None present doubted his promises of restoration. After all, he was their Hope._

_Before the feasting, dancing, and general merry-making began, however, the party-goers insisted that their King announce a toast. _

_Aragorn thought long and hard, then he lifted his goblet. "For those who prosper yet after the troubled times now behind us," he toasted, "and for those we lost along the way."_

_"Here, here!" came the chorus of cheers._

_And that was all that was mentioned of the fallen warriors, which bothered Aragorn more than he would like to acknowledge, but he did not begrudge his friends their happiness. Valar knew they all deserved it._

_However melancholy his mood, he had to admit that the celebrations after the formalities were truly awe-inspiring. The music was bright and festive, the wine was a perfect, potent Dorwinion imported from Dol Amroth, and all around, people were chatting gaily with one another. There was no talk of the Ring, or the Dark Lord, or the Shadow, or anything evil or depressing. Everyone was brimming with optimism._

_Everyone, that is, except the King. He was trying to be as ecstatic as all his friends, but ai, Elbereth, he missed Legolas. Aragorn fought back the urge to sigh. Today was a day to rejoice, not mourn._

_"He is here, my lord," Gimli said softly, as if he had read his mind. Aragorn started in surprise, then mentally berated himself for allowing a heavy-footed Dwarf to sneak up on him. "Can you not feel the warmth of his light? Why, he's probably fit to burst with joy for you."_

_Aragorn's smile was like sunshine after the rain. "You're right, of course, Master Dwarf."_

_Gimli huffed out a breath. "A Dwarf is never wrong." After moment, he shook his head and added, "I can practically hear Legolas's snort of protest."_

_The King laughed. "Aye, he would never allow that comment to go by without a rebuttal."_

_"I miss him, too, Aragorn," Gimli told him gently, "but I know that he is enjoying this celebration as much as everyone else, and would want nothing less for you."_

_The man looked around, taking in the cheerful atmosphere, but when he spoke, his voice was solemn. "I hope he knows how much I miss him on this day, of all days."_

_"I hope _YOU _know how happy he is for you, on this day of all days," the Dwarf countered, turning to leave, but not taking a step before calling over his shoulder, "Remember that, King of Gondor."_

_Aragorn nodded, watching as Gimli, seeming satisfied with that response, disappeared back into the crowd of merry-makers._

_Once the Dwarf had predictably squeezed his way back into the throngs of people around the drinking table, the King again was lost in his thoughts of how much he wished Legolas was here to see his unshakable dreams for the Ranger he had so often deemed filthy and putrid come to fruition at long last. _

_He decided he would gladly give up the crown Legolas knew he would wear one day, if only to see the Elf enter the hall and give him that infuriatingly all-knowing smile._

_He felt guilty. Gimli would not be thrilled to know this, but he could not help himself. It was what his heart longed for most._

_No, the one who approached him now was what his heart longed for most, he corrected himself firmly. The Evenstar was the only one he loved more at this moment than Legolas._

_As if reading his mind, which was never an impossibility with the daughter of Elrond, Arwen rested her hand against his cheek, looking her future husband directly in the eyes and smiling as she told him in her sweet, gentle voice, "He would be so proud of you, Estel. We all are proud, but none so much as he."_

_"He always believed in me." He covered her soft hand with his. "_You_ always believed in me, Undómiel. Have I ever properly thanked you for your unwavering faith in me?"_

_Her smile widened. "You thank me everyday with your love, Estel. As for Legolas and me, we believed in you because we both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were destined for greatness."_

_"Then it is fitting that you two found it in yourselves to love each other, as well."_

_"_I_ never properly thanked _you_ for being so understanding about my past with Legolas. We both loved you from the moment we met you, even more than we had ever loved each other."_

_"My love, I beg to differ," Aragorn replied simply, touching the glowing, mithril-encased jewel at his throat. "If it truly troubles your heart, then you may properly thank me by marrying me."_

_A smile curved the Evenstar's lips. "Agreed."_

* * *


	10. A Private Farewell

_**Author's Note** - You may be wondering why I'm including a chapter about a funeral that took place two years before this story began, but my reasoning is that it will develop a bridge to the next chapter, which is the highly anticipated Thranduil chapter that everyone seems to be itching to read. :)_

_Thank you to Nierial Raina for the insightful comments on the sixth chapter. I am sorry that I am so stubbornly sticking to my original plot bunny's insistences, but I appreciate your wise suggestions._

_And thank you a hundred times to my beta-reader, Raev, who possesses endless talent and can, with very minimal effort of her part, completely write me under the proverbial table. She absolutely kicks ass. I would be nothing without you, darling._

* * *

The funeral for Legolas had been beautiful. Fit for the Prince of Mirkwood. 

Frodo Baggins had been allowed to give the eulogy, and had declared, "Legolas was the true hero of the War of the Ring. If not for the surety of his aim, I might never have made it as far as I did or accomplished the things I did. He deserves to be recognized and remembered as a prince, warrior, and Fellowship member, but above all else, a friend to all. Thank you, Legolas, for your contributions to our Quest. I owe you my life a hundred times over, and for that, you will always have my gratitude."

Every voice had lifted in a cheer of agreement, and all hands broke into enthusiastic applause.

* * *

After the funeral ceremony, most retreated to the Grand Hall, where a feast in Legolas's honor was to occur. It was a weird custom, but Gimli knew many cultures shared it. It had something to do with celebrating the life of the fallen; however, the Dwarf had always found that tradition to be rather contradictory. He said nothing of his confusion about the motives behind the gorging custom, as he did not wish to ruffle any feathers, especially not when emotions were running so high and on a day when everyone was at their worst for the loss of a creature so incredible. 

Gimli decided against joining the others in the banquet ritual, and not only because he disagreed with the idea; he had other intentions, and they were more of an individual nature.

He managed to escape the swollen parade of people heading into the Grand Hall, and instead followed the procession of men carrying the Elf's body to the House of the Kings, where Legolas was to be kept until decisions about his burial place were made. The Dwarf dreaded that; he knew Thranduil would have the final say, and he doubted the King of the Elves would be feeling generous about it.

This might very well be his last chance to have a moment alone with Legolas.

He waited outside behind a cart full of melons that had been abandoned in the flurry of activity that had gone on nonstop since the end of the last battle of the war. Hiding like a criminal, Gimli waited silently for the men to leave so he could sneak in and see his friend. He knew they would not allow him in, as they would never approve of his viewing the body after the funeral. After all, that was the idea behind the funeral in the first place: letting the friends and loved ones of the Elf say their final farewells, and that was that. No more staring at the body.

Gimli understood their sentiments; they just weren't good enough for him. He had to see Legolas again; by himself this time, when he could say more than just goodbye, but also the things that had gone unsaid between them as the Elf faded from this world. There were so many things he still needed to tell Legolas, and damned if he'd let tradition stop him.

After what seemed like hours (when it fact only ten minutes had gone by), the men exited the mausoleum, overly solemn as they tried to pretend they weren't all starving and fiercely interested in the food that awaited them in the Hall of the King.

Gimli waited until they had all passed from sight, and then slipped into the stone tomb, trying to ready himself for his last chance to speak his mind and heart.

For the good of the people, he would never enter a burial tomb without permission. If he thought it was for the good of Legolas, he _certainly_ would not. But this was for the good of Gimli, and he believed with all his heart that Legolas would like to hear the things he intended to tell him. He was going in, and if anyone dared attempt to stop him, they would find themselves at the business end of his meticulously sharpened axe. It was as simple as that.

The Elf had been laid out on the cold marble pyre, his hands folded neatly upon his still chest. His bow was resting between the fingers of one hand, and a single white-feathered arrow in the other, and his long knives glistened at his side.

A pose and props befitting a warrior.

The weak rays of sunlight that filtered in through the open window fell upon the pyre, and cast an eerie luminosity over the prone body that lay upon it.

It was ridiculous, Gimli knew, but he kept yearning for his dear friend to shift and stretch, as if awakening from a deep sleep.

Indeed, Legolas appeared so peaceful, it seemed that he was merely dozing. At worst, unconscious perhaps. But _dead?_ No. The Elf did not appear dead. If it weren't for the absence of the glow that normally surrounded his slender figure, it would be very easy to believe he lived still.

How Gimli would rejoice to see those dark lashes flutter as the bright eyes opened wide in confusion and the melodic voice inquired, "How long have I slumbered? And just _where_ in the name of Ilúvatar am I?!"

_What wouldn't I give to make that happen,_ Gimli thought with a sigh as he drew nearer to his friend.

As soon as he reached the pyre, he placed one hand on Legolas's pale cheek. It felt like cold velvet beneath his rough, calloused fingers. "I am so sorry, my friend, for not finding you soon enough to save you. I would have given my life for you alone; instead, you gave yours for all of us." A lump formed in his throat. "You always did know how to best me, Master Elf."

He stared at his friend, his heart willing life back into the Elf.

"Ai, have five days passed already? It feels as though it has been but five hours, and I miss you as though it was only five minutes ago, Legolas." He patted the Elf's hand, and added, "Even if you always were a real tangle in my beard."

Gimli fingered the Elven brooch that held the Lórien cloak closed. If it had not been for the Lady of the Golden Wood, they might never have forgiven each other for things that had happened long before they had even met; they might have held resentments about afflictions that they had not visited upon each other...the old grudges ran deep. Galadriel had reminded them firmly that they were not their fathers, and should at least find reasons of their own to harbor ill feelings toward each other. Without her sage advice, they might never have become the friends that they had. _Perhaps it would be best. Then I would not hurt at his passing._

The thought came unbidden, and Gimli growled, angrily berating himself mentally. _Durin's Beard, what a horrible way to think! If it hadn't been for Legolas, you would never have known true friendship...and the true friendship you did know with Legolas is worth hurting over._

Guiltily, he cast his eyes to the Elf, so beautiful in his repose. He was grateful that Legolas would never know the horrible things he had just thought. For the life of him, Gimli did not know what caused him to be so selfish and think only of his pain when his dearest friend lay in state on a funeral pyre, never to know solace again.

* * *

It seemed like eternity dragged by as he stood there, just staring at the prone figure. 

After awhile, it became clear that his presence in the tomb had been predicted. He knew he'd be found out sooner or later. Gimli heard the approaching footfalls on the stone road long before they reached the doorway, and from the swish of white cloth, he sensed rather than saw that it was Gandalf.

The wizard walked up to the pyre, resting his palm over Legolas's arranged hands.

Gimli was expecting his friend to scold him for coming into the tomb without explicit permission from the King, but Gandalf said nothing of the sort. It occurred to the Dwarf that perhaps the Maia came for the same reason he had: to say a private goodbye. If Gimli could have managed it without his heart breaking, he might have left to make that possible for Gandalf, but he just could not bring himself to leave Legolas's side.

He moved away from the pyre to give Gandalf some space, taking a seat in a chair that had been placed in a corner.

For his part, the wizard seemed unruffled by Gimli's presence. He seemed to understand why the Dwarf needed to be here, and wasn't at all bothered by the lack of privacy. He murmured to Legolas in Elvish, unintelligible to Gimli, then turned to face the other living inhabitant of the tomb.

"I spoke to the Elven-King earlier. Seems Thranduil wants to take Legolas back with him to be buried in Mirkwood," Gandalf commented casually, keeping his tone neutral as he carefully watching the Dwarf's face for reaction.

Gimli did not respond at first, but tugged irritably at his beard, which told the wizard immediately the depth of his annoyance.

A long silence fell over the already too-quiet atmosphere hanging over the tomb.

Then, finally, Gimli's frustration got the better of him. He practically growled as he leapt up from his chair, knocking it over with a heavy clatter, and began to furiously pace the floor. His dark eyes were flashing dangerously. He looked tempted to hunt down the Elven-King and throttle him with his bare hands.

Gandalf grimaced and took a deep breath, waiting for the legendary Dwarven temper tantrum to commence, but fortunately, this Dwarf had learned at least that childish fits would get him nowhere with this wizard. He composed himself before he spoke, and Gandalf released the pent-up breath in a sigh of relief.

"Gandalf, can you not talk reason into him? What of his friends? What of Frodo and the other Halflings? They will want to visit him; you know how Pippin is troubled by the fact that he cannot visit Boromir."

"You mean what of you." As always, the old Maia saw right through him. "I know you have your reservations about having our Elven friend buried in Thranduil's realm, but Gimli, Legolas is his child. He can do anything he pleases with the body of his son. And might I remind you, Legolas was Prince of Mirkwood. He should be buried with his kind; with his people."

"You know full well Thranduil won't allow me into Mirkwood! Especially to see his son; Valar forbid, I might taint the sacred resting place."

The wizard shot him a dirty look at his disrespectful sarcasm.

"Put yourself in the place of the Elven-King. Would you not would want your child buried as close to you as possible, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli sighed, knowing Gandalf was right. Still, he wanted Legolas close to him too.

"We _all_ loved Legolas, Gimli, but _none_ so much as his father."

Gandalf knelt before him, looking at him with wise blue eyes that held nothing but kindness. "Gimli, if nothing else, realize that Elves bury their fallen kindred in the earth, in the land that they loved and cherished. Would you wish to see Legolas entombed in a stone mausoleum and covered in a burial shroud, he who so loved sunlight and fresh air?"

The Dwarf hung his head, and his shoulders slumped. "No," he whispered softly. "Legolas would hate that. _I_ would hate that."

"This would happen in Gondor, my friend, because that is how _men_ bury their fallen. You have to realize that we are doing what Legolas would have wanted, even if it is at the expense of those who loved him. If you love him, let him go. Know that his father loves him too, and is not doing this to affront you, Master Dwarf. He is doing what he can to help himself cope, and if having Legolas near is his best bet, do not stand in the way of a father mourning his son."

Gimli sighed heavily, but nodded his concurrence. "I hate that you are always right, Gandalf," he declared.

The wizard chuckled, slipping an arm around the stout creature's shoulders. "And _I _hate that you are always stubborn, Gimli," he replied, prompting a laugh from the Dwarf. "Perhaps you can plead for permission to see Legolas once more when you go to Thranduil to make your amends with him and hopefully end the grudge that has existed between your father, yourself, and him for centuries."

"How did you..." the Dwarf stammered, confused.

Gandalf just smiled knowingly. "I've known our friend longer than you, Gimli. I know what he would want, and I have no doubt that Legolas asked that very thing of you."

"You are _always_ right!" Gimli cried, shaking his head. "I thought _Elves_ were confusing! I'll never understand you wizards either!"

"Let us go, Gimli. You need to eat, and I think we both could use a good smoke. Will you smoke with me, Master Dwarf?"

"Aye," Gimli answered, "but first, I need one more moment alone with Legolas. I will meet you outside, Gandalf."

The Maia nodded, giving the Elf's hand a final, friendly squeeze and kissing the pale brow. "Goodbye, Legolas," he whispered, barely loud enough to reach Gimli's ears. Then he swept out of the tomb in a flutter of white robes.

Gimli took a deep breath, then more or less climbed up the pyre and placed a chaste kiss on Legolas's forehead as well. "Goodbye, Legolas, son of Thranduil. I hope I will be able to see you again someday, and at least visit once in awhile before that time comes. I still fully intend to keep my promise to you, fool Elf, and I hope it gives you peace. You deserve it."

Fighting back the tears, he rejoined Gandalf outside, quietly pulling the door of the tomb closed and allowing the wizard to guide him back to the Grand Hall. _Having a few puffs on my pipe might be the best medicine for grief. One way to find out._


	11. Fulfilling a Promise

After a lovely four-day stay in Minas Tirith, Gimli and Malenfín were off again. They had a long journey to the realm of Thranduil before them, and had mixed reactions about the destination; Malenfín, of course, being excited beyond measure, and Gimli, of course, being anxious and just generally scuffing his feet trying to avoid it.

Eighteen days of hard riding ensued, after which Arod damn near collapsed at the border of Eryn Lasgalen. Malenfín was in a great hurry to see his grandfather, but Gimli gently suggested that he wait until the Dwarf and the Elven-King had at least attempted to make peace. If they went to the King together, Gimli declared with all conviction, he would be in the worst mood possible and would likely toss them both out without even hearing what Malenfín was dying to tell him.

Malenfín regretfully and reluctantly agreed. He knew Gimli had a point, so he chose to plop himself down beneath a tree and just wait, rather than dealing with the Elves that were surely just waiting for him to try to get too near the King's domain.

* * *

The Dwarf was just as regretful and reluctant as he approached the line of trees that led into the heart of the woods Thranduil reigned over.

Gimli hated these forests. The shadows of the towering trees were oppressive, although he had to admit they were less eerie now that they were at least no longer cast by the evil that once lurked here. It still gave him the chills, however, because he could almost already feel the hatred he was bound to encounter. It was as if the _forest itself_ despised him and demanded that he turn back.

Then the real demand came. There was barely a rustle of leaves as Elves dropped expertly from the trees they had taken post in; indeed, he might not even have noticed their presence but for the shout one of them emitted. _"HALT, Dwarf!"_

Gimli whirled about, only to find himself at the business end of about fifty white-feathered arrows. He was a little exasperated, but not a bit surprised. Still, knowing full well that he was not only out-numbered, but dead on the spot if he made a move toward his throwing axe nestled in his belt, he froze, lifting both hands in a gesture of neutrality.

The Elven border sentinels that held the intimidating weapons all looked as if they had much they would like to say, and all of it spiteful, but the first to speak was standing almost directly behind him; so close, in fact, the breath expelled rustled the thick red hair lying against Gimli neck.

"You are not welcome here, son of Gloin."

Without even turning, Gimli knew exactly who had uttered the declaration of dismissal. He drew in a deep breath, knowing that arguing would do him no good; if there was even the slightest hint of disrespect in his tone, the Dwarf would be riddled with arrows. There were many ways he had decided would be heroic to die, but becoming an Elven pincushion was not one of them.

The silence that fell between the two was pregnant with shared annoyance.

_"He_ would have welcomed me here, father of Legolas," Gimli replied testily, finally breaking the lull and turning to face the Elven-King.

* * *

Thranduil had not changed...just as nothing had changed between them.

He had the same long, golden hair that his son had come to be renowned for. And the similarities abruptly stopped there.

Legolas had always looked, and acted, youthful and carefree, but Thranduil appeared old and wise beyond his years. Gimli couldn't help but wonder if losing his only child had served to age the king further.

While Legolas had been deceptively waif-like, his father's build was powerful, conveying every ounce of his strength in every inch of his body.

The hue of his eyes, unlike the brilliant azure Legolas had possessed, rivaled the green of the deepest emeralds, and if not for the frosty glare Gimli had come to expect, they would have been absolutely staggering to behold.

Thranduil's stare had never failed to unnerve him. It cut through his enemies like the sterling blade of a knife.

"I came to see Legolas," Gimli said firmly, his gaze level and stern, when the silence that had fallen over them threatened to stretch uncomfortably long.

"Do not make me repeat myself, stunted one." The king's voice was glacial. "My patrol warned me of your approach, and I came to see to it personally that you are forcibly escorted from my land. You have no right to be here, and I want you to leave of your own accord before I either have you bodily dragged away or do something drastic that my son would never have approved of."

"You never allowed me the chance to tell my best friend goodbye," Gimli practically growled. "After everything Legolas and I went through together, I could not bid him farewell and pay my last respects to the one who had come to mean so much to me. I was refused invitation to the burial ceremony, and I have not once been able to visit his final resting place. Do you dare think that is forgivable? Yet here I am, pleading with all due deference, wanting to show Legolas that I still care about him and mourn his passing. And you deny me."

Thranduil's expression did not change; the steadiness of his stare did not falter.

"Your son would be ashamed."

The emerald eyes narrowed warningly.

Gimli sighed, trying a different approach. He knew how Legolas would disapprove of the two of them flinging insults back and forth. "This is not about you, or me, or our age-long grudge we hold against each other, my lord. This is about _Legolas,_ and whether or not you accept me as Elf-friend, he did. He would be angered beyond reason if you forced me to turn back without fulfilling my harmless wish, and you know this as well as I.

"It was Legolas's dying wish that we reconcile, my lord. I would prefer to negotiate a truce in the absence of your well-armed border patrol."

"I will not do it for you, Master Dwarf."

"Then do it for him."

Thranduil gave a heavy sigh. After a moment, he looked to his guards, making a lowering gesture with one hand as he nodded. They reluctantly unstrung their bows and vanished back into the darkness.

There was a tense lull as neither Elf nor Dwarf knew how to begin. Finally, the King spoke. "I do not approve of your former friendship with my son. Had I known about it before Legolas passed, I would have warned him against it. Dwarves are nothing but trouble, and I thought I had warned him against your stubborn kind enough, but apparently not. Legolas never did know how to carefully guard his trust or listen to his instincts. He might have chosen his so-called 'friends' with more discretion and never wound up joining that ridiculous Fellowship. I wanted my son to leave others to do what needed to be done, and stay in his forest where he could safely guard his people rather than trying to save the greedy men and mulish Dwarves who had no respect for him or his kind anyway. His place was here in Eryn Lasgalen, with his people, not off parading to his death alongside races inferior to his."

Gimli bristled, choosing with much reluctant to ignore that. "Were it up to me, I would be perfectly content to let our grudge continue, as knowing that you hate me does not keep me awake at night, but for the sake of Legolas, I insist that we at least reach a truce, my lord. I know you loved your son, and I loved him too. Why can that not be enough for us to let this hatred die? We need to honor his wishes, and he wanted this more than anything. I can absolutely assure you of that. He wanted the father and friend he held dearest to him to be civil. I don't think it is too much to ask, especially after all that he did for us. I am certain he was a wonderful, obedient, loving son to you for millennia, and though I enjoyed his friendship for less than half a year, it was the best I have known in all my life. Is that not reason enough to do what he would wish for so fervently?"

Thranduil tried to appear nonchalant as he smoothed the length of golden hair lying against his back in a rather un-kingly gesture. Gimli realized almost instantaneously that he had seen Legolas exhibit this same annoyed mannerism on the rare occasion that he was unable to easily find a suitable retort to something snide the Dwarf tossed at him.

Gimli knew that he had to take advantage of the King's inability to find a hole in his logic. So he pressed on determinedly.

"I despised your son at first. He struck me as pompous and stupid, and I was incredibly misguided in thinking these things, but those were my first impressions and I readily admit that."

My father had led me to believe that all Elves were faint-of-heart pacifists whose superiority complexes led them to care nothing for the other races of this world. He declared that Elves in general, and you in particular, had a propensity for stubbornness and an inconceivable lack of common sense. Not to offend you, King Thranduil, but he described you as having the mental capacity of a garden-variety turnip."

"I tried very hard to apply these characteristics to your son, but they would not stick. Perhaps, granted, it was entirely due to the lack of incapacitation my father suffered at your hands, but I found that it was impossible to see Legolas in the same light that my father Gloin saw you so long ago. He did not fit the Elven mold that had been offered to me.

"Therefore, try as I might --and believe me, I tried impossibly hard-- I could not bring myself to keep hating Legolas. He was too admirable, damn him, and much as I wanted to be stubborn and nurse forever my negative feelings toward him, I was helpless to resist his amazing spirit. He got under my skin, even though I fought harder than I ever did as a warrior to keep that from happening. There was a time that I probably wished him dead, and I am more ashamed to admit that than you could ever imagine, King Thranduil, but now that he is gone, I miss him every day. I would have died in his place, had I been given the chance, and you can wager your crown on it. I loved him dearly, and I know you did as well. I acknowledge that you were his beloved father, and that you were a good father to him. Why can you not acknowledge that I was his beloved friend, and that I was a good friend to him?"

"Your father was nothing but a nuisance," the King mumbled, unwilling to admit that the Dwarf had a very good point…well, several good points. "Nothing but a thick-headed Dwarven nuisance."

"He still is," Gimli said, barely able to hide an ironic smile when Thranduil rolled his eyes. "However, I am not my father. I am the best friend of your late child. Why can you not see the difference?"

"There is no difference. A Dwarf is a Dwarf."

"And an Elf is an Elf, by your logic, and I thought much of Legolas the Elf-Prince, so why should I think less of you, Thranduil the Elf-King?" Gimli riposted, and he could have sworn he saw a muscle in the squared jaw jump ever so slightly, but it was enough to speak volumes.

It was completely obvious by this point that the regal Elf could think of no rebuttals. Relieved, Gimli delivered his last appeal to Thranduil's reason. "What good could possibly come of the two of us maintaining our hatred? It will only fester and deepen; it will not bring back your son or my friend. We should unite, and help each other. We both lost a loved one, Thranduil. We _both _did, and whether we are Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit, Man, or Istar, we grieve the _same way. _It's time to release our grudge. For Legolas."

Thranduil looked at the short creature, who stared up at him imploringly. His green eyes bore through Gimli for a long, uncomfortable moment; then the hard glint faded from them. His voice was softer as he said, "Aragorn came to me last summer and told me that you tried to save him. I have to thank you, Gimli, for trying."

"I failed," the Dwarf admitted miserably, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You offered him solace in his last moments. He was not alone. He had..." Thranduil paused, and then his face lit with a brilliant smile that almost caused Gimli to fall over backward in shock. "He had his best friend with him."

Gimli was beside himself for a moment, gaping at the Elven-King, who looked amused. He knew how much the Dwarf had never expected him to direct a smile his way. But he couldn't help it; Legolas had had good reason to care as much as he obviously had for Gimli. This stunted creature had a good heart under all that...well, "fur" was the word that came to mind.

"Go to him," Thranduil said, clasping Gimli's shoulder in a bewildering gesture of comfort. Apparently, Gimli decided, he was trying to see how much unexpected benevolence it would take to kill the Dwarf. "I know he misses you."

Gimli swallowed hard. "I doubt half as much as I miss him."

They knew that their shared loved for Legolas had played a significant part in easing their stubbornness. Perhaps their hatred could be blamed at least partly on a lack of common ground; but their adoration for the Elf they both still grieved for united them.

Legolas's death had not been in vain after all. It had brought together the two most dear to him. It was finally as he had wanted it, and it greatly relieved his father and friend to know that nothing in the world would have made him happier.

* * *

"Come with me," Thranduil bade, and Gimli followed as the Elf swept off through the dense shadows of the lush foliage in the direction of his son's final resting place.

It was deep in the forest; likely placed far from the border in case of attack by the few remaining Orcs who still insisted on trying to vex the Elves of the Greenwood, as those foul creatures would surely desecrate the memorial.

The Elven-King stopped after a long while, making a forward gesture with one graceful hand. "It is just beyond that line of trees, in the center of the clearing. Take your time, Master Dwarf."

"Thank you, my lord. I cannot wait to tell him all that has transpired in these two long years. He will love to hear all that we have accomplished in his memory after the War of the Ring. I appreciate you allowing me this moment with him."

Thranduil stared ahead, but his smile was clearly meant for Gimli. "I am sorry that it has been so long since you could see him. I see now why my son spoke so highly of his friend."

"It is forgiven, King Thranduil. I see now why my friend spoke so highly of his father."

The royal Elf's smile widened. "I will leave you and my son alone. I hope your moment with him makes up for lost time."

Gimli replied, dipping his chin slightly in respect, "It will, my lord. Thank you again. I am eternally grateful."

The golden Elf returned the gesture, then turned and began to walk away, but just as Gimli was about to do the same, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Always know that from this day hence, _Elvellon_, you are welcome in the Greenwood, by order of the king."

The Dwarf laughed, not missing the naming of him as Elf-friend. "Legolas would be so pleased."

Thranduil nodded, then turned back and disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

Gimli took a deep breath, then set off in the direction that had been instructed. When he made his way past the mentioned line of trees, and his eyes fell upon the small tribute erected in the middle of the clearing, his throat constricted even as his soul filled with delight.

The mallorn tree, a tiny sapling when Gimli had last set eyes upon it as it was being gently uprooted and carefully carried out of Lothlórien, was now nearly thrice his size. The great branches dipped slightly downward, as if the tree itself bowed in reverence to the memorial beneath it.

To Gimli's amazement, as he stood there staring at the burial site, a ray of sunlight penetrated the heavy cover of leaves, drenching the final resting place of his dear friend with liquid gold. His heart warmed, and he laughed out loud. _I know, Legolas, you foolish Elf. You just_ have_ to show off._

The relief of just being here, at long last, washed over him. Tears sprang to his eyes. He could _feel_ Legolas here. It was a soothing balm to his aching soul.

The marker was simple, bearing only the Elf-Prince's name nestled inside the large, carved outline of a leaf and a couple of lines of Elvish runes, which Gimli surmised were meant to be private from those who were not of the Elves, but he took no offense.

He placed his palm gently on the cold stone slab. "Ah, old friend, it has been too long. I am sorry for that. It was not for lack of effort on my part, I assure you. Until this very day, your father braced his feet and held his grudge, and adamantly refused to grant me permission into his kingdom.

"You should be relieved to learn that we had a very long conversation, and have at last reached some semblance of a truce. You told me you loved us both, and wanted us to know why, but the truth is that it doesn't matter why. We are united in our gratitude for your love. You accepted us as equals, and that now is enough for us."

Fighting back an onslaught of tears, he took a break, allowing himself a moment to compose himself before he continued. He just reveled in being so near his friend for awhile. It was so comforting.

Finally, he was strong enough to go on. "I was rather surprised, and I think that goes without saying, when your son popped into my life less than a fortnight ago." He chuckled. "Only a creature as cryptic as an Elf could harbor such a secret."

Gimli's tone changed from playful to sober as he continued, "He's wonderful, Legolas. You deserve praise for fathering a spirit so incredible." He paused, then added, "And a good hard thump on the head by the butt of my axe for not telling me about him in the first place." He harrumphed. "Some friend."

For a moment, he was solemn and silent, his fingers were rewriting the name engraved into the stone, but suddenly he let out another laugh.

"I swear by my beard that I can hear you now, Legolas, reminding me that Arwen raised him, and that Elrond and Aragorn had a hand in it, so they should be the ones congratulated for how fine Malenfín turned out to be, but he is _you._ I insist that it is _your_ spirit that shines brightest in him.

"I think about you all the time, Legolas, and miss you more than you'd believe I could. It's been over two years, and I still find myself expecting to have you bursting into my study and regaling me with tales of birds and trees and other such nonsense."

His fingers traced the leaf as he sighed shakily, and his rough voice cracked as he admitted, "I always wish you would. Someday, I intend to reunite with you. For now, you deserve your peace, Legolas and I hope that Valinor is everything you claimed it would be. I miss you, but I am glad to have known you for the time that I did; however short it may have been, it was worth every moment. It was worth the pain of losing you."

Taking a breath as deep as the pain in his soul, he smiled down at the marker. "It fills a void to be here, Legolas, and know you are listening. I am glad your father brought you here, to your home. I know it is what you would have wished; I was just hurt that I could not see you for so long. But I am here now, and I will return often. You have my word. By now, you should know the value of my word, Legolas. I have never broken a promise to you, and I certainly do not intend to begin doing so now. Farewell for now. Take care, my dear Elf."

With great effort, he rose to his feet and exited the clearing, knowing now that he had done what he had wanted. It gave him such peace; he wanted to laugh for the relief of it.


	12. At Last We Meet

Gimli returned to the border, where he had left Malenfín to be sure that the Elven-King was in a benevolent mood. He found the Elf seated beneath a tree, humming softly to himself and staring curiously up into the branches at a squirrel, who was staring curiously back.

Malenfín heard the barely audible tramp of Gimli's boots upon the soft earth, and rose quickly to his feet. "Master Dwarf! You have returned! How fares my grandfather?" His brow furrowed as he warily asked the most nagging question. "Did you two reconcile?"

Gimli smiled. "Aye. It was difficult territory, but we have come to an agreement that your father wanted us to be at least civil, and we both know that we'd do anything for Legolas. So we have a truce."

"Good!" Malenfín beamed. "I am glad to hear it." Then, after a moment, he requested, "May I go to my father now?"

"I thought you would wish to see your grandfather first," the Dwarf replied, puzzled. "He might not wish for you to enter the forest without introduction."

"I would like to see my father first, if you don't mind. I am as much an Elf of this realm as any, regardless of whether I have visited before or not. I do not need to procure the permission of the King to go to the grave of my father, Master Dwarf." Malenfín's voice was firm, but gentle. Obviously, Thranduil's temper was not hereditary. "I will see my father first."

"Of course," Gimli answered quickly. "I meant no insult."

The Elf nodded, placated. "Then shall we go?"

The Dwarf nodded too. "Follow me," he told Malenfín, walking in the direction from which he had come.

He was a bit annoyed to realize that the Elven wardens did not leap from the trees and aim their weapons at Malenfín, although he might have expected they would think nothing of his presence in their wood. He looked exactly as they did; for all they knew, he was another in service to King Thranduil, returning from a trade mission or hunting escapade.

It was just as well, Gimli knew, for he did not feel like having his well-being placed in direct threat again.

When they reached the clearing, Malenfín stopped, closing his eyes for a moment as if bracing himself.

"Take your time," Gimli advised softly. "I know this will be difficult."

The Elf managed a weak, but grateful, grin. "I will be fine. I have dreamed of this for so long. I have always wanted to meet my father, for I was a babe when last he saw me. It just is a shame that I have fulfilled my wish too late."

"Your father can hear you as clearly as if he were right before you, Malenfín. Trust me. I swear he heard every word I said to him."

"Thank you, Gimli. I will return," he responded, then straightened his posture respectfully and approached the middle of the clearing while the Dwarf looked on in silence.

Malenfín knelt at the grave of his sire, his tears flowing freely as he bent further and placed his forehead upon the cool marker. _"Father,"_ he breathed. "At last, we meet again."

The young Elf lapsed into his native tongue, sounding excited. He'd certainly accumulated a lot to tell his father over the centuries before this day.

Gimli smiled, but did not utter a word. He was afraid to break the magic of the long-awaited reunion.

* * *

Suddenly, a voice arose from the silence, startling them both. "Greetings, child of Gloin, and child of my child." 

Gimli hardly had time to register his shock as the Elven-King approached. He was, of course, every inch the picture of calmness and solemnity. Then the emotions flooded. Thranduil's green eyes were misty with tears as he opened his arms wide, beckoning his grandson to him. Needing no further encouragement, Malenfín rushed into them, sobbing out a single word that absolutely tugged at the stoic Elf-lord's heart.

"Grandfather!"

For his part, the Dwarf was shaking in frustration at his lack of comprehension of the circumstances. Thranduil knew!

"How did you...when did...who told...how did..._how did you know?!"_ Gimli stammered, his voice raising an octave in surprise.

The Elven-King shrugged his proud shoulders, then looked to his grandson. "Malenfín, will you translate for our Dwarven friend the Sindarin inscription on your father's marker?"

"Yes, Grandfather." Malenfín was absolutely stunned as his eyes skimmed over the runes. His blue eyes were enormous as they met Gimli's, who for his part just looked anxious.

"It reads: 'Legolas, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, of the Nine Walkers, hero of the War of the Ring, beloved son and..." He took a deep breath, and appeared to be trembling all over as he finished, "...Father."

There was a moment of shocked silence as the meaning sank in.

"He knew," Gimli murmured in amazement, gaping at Malenfín, who in turn was still gaping at the marker. Then he pivoted on his heel, staring up at Thranduil, whose lips were curved in an infuriatingly smug smile. "Do you blasted Elves know _everything?!"_

There was a tense moment as the Dwarf realized how the King might react to such an offensive outburst, and Thranduil looked at him sternly for an uncomfortably long period of time, then erupted into laughter, which surprised the other two into laughing as well.

When the mirthful moment had passed, the King of Greenwood and the Lord of Aglarond both retreated to give the young Elf his privacy.

Gimli cleared his throat, clasping his hands together in front of him. Finally, with no lack of timidness, he spoke. "There were many reasons for my visit to your great forest, King Thranduil. I wanted to fulfill my promise to your son and to pay my respects to my fallen friend, and to allow his son to do the same, but ultimately, I came here to tell Legolas what I am about to tell you now."

He paused, but not as much for dramatic effect as for collecting himself. Thranduil merely raised an eyebrow.

"You raised a fine son," he declared softly, and was absolutely astounded when the King of the Greenwood Elves swept him into a fierce hug.

* * *

_The End  
_

* * *

**Author's Dedications**

In the words of Porky Pig, _ "That's all, folks!" _

I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It has taken me over two years to complete this work of fanfiction, and I appreciate those who have followed along the entire time, keeping up with the progress even when the going was slow.

For those of you who believe this would never have happened in the universe Tolkien created, I understand and wish to acknowledge the truth to that argument. I realize that _Valor Without Renown_ was _extremely_ out of canon for the work of Tolkien, but that was the idea. I know that in Tolkien's world, Elves would never have pre-marital sex, but then again, in his world, Elves were perfect, and in mine, they are not. They make mistakes too, but it does not make anyone love them any less. It was a way to humanize the ethereal, if you will. I wanted to explore a new angle, and I thank you for bearing with me.

* * *

First, I'd like to thank my readers, especially those who reviewed along the way. Your feedback has been extremely instrumental in shaping the development and overall outcome of this tale.

Thank you to J.R.R. Tolkien, the greatest author of all time in my opinion and the opinion of millions like me. His books have inspired me more than I could even dream of expressing, and I hope that I did them justice.

I give credit also to Peter Jackson and the cast of the _Lord of the Rings_ movie trilogy, for bringing the wonderful tales to life and giving me a better idea and image of the characters I wished to write about.

Last but certainly not least, I wish to thank Raev, my lovely beta-reader, who is first and foremost my best friend. Her endless wisdom (and endless patience to boot) has never failed to amaze me. Without her, this story would never have become a reality._  
_


End file.
